


Lil' Atom Bomb

by insatiability



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mental Instability, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiability/pseuds/insatiability
Summary: Hancock, Deacon, and a borderline insane Sole Survivor travel together with one common goal: destroying the Institute. But with a group dynamic as screwed up as theirs, gettinganythingdone becomes a damn near miracle.Lots of Hancock/Deacon bickering, random Nora quirks, and eventual sexual tension (Han/SS).





	1. Hospitality

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written anything Fallout before, but hell, I liked it. Comments/kudos are appreciated, negative or positive.

I stumbled down the alley, clutching my side and spitting blood onto the ground. Goddamnit, I thought. These fuckers were not going down easily. Already four were down, but the last two were persistent bastards. Their hound had gotten his jaws around me too tightly for comfort, and I was fairly certain that the blood I’d just spit on the ground was internal just moments ago. I shot off another round, getting back on my feet with substantial effort on my part. One of the supermutants finally crumbled in defeat, and I sighed with relief. Just one more and I was in the clear, more or less. I retreated from him, still aiming shots over my shoulder. Ahead, a neon sign gleamed, lights reflected on the puddles beneath my feet. What the fuck…  
  
Goodneighbor.  
  
I’d been wandering around these streets for almost an hour now, trying to find this godforsaken place. Of course I’d find it after being attacked by a fucking herd of disfigured monsters. C'est la fucking Commonwealth.  
  
I grasped the handle of the door as tightly as I could, pressed down and flew it open, staggering onto the pavement. I continued firing shots behind me as I crawled backwards, the supermutant followed closely behind me. It ducked beneath the doorway, struggling to fit his striking mass through the narrow opening. He finally shoved his way inside, but he’d given me just enough of a window to fill him with six consecutive shots of lead. He swayed momentarily before collapsing on top of me, gurgling up blood into my lap before finally lying still. I squirmed my legs out from beneath him, finally taking a look around. It seemed the whole damn town was surrounding me, gawking openly. I shrugged, smirking at them.  
  
“Supermutants. What can ya do?” I asked, laughing a bit before realizing how fucking much it hurt to. I grabbed my side, biting my lip harshly. I’d made quite an entrance, but I’d heard enough about this town to know that any sign of weakness was a bad idea. I tried to play it cool, but getting to my feet was seeming damn near impossible at this point. It didn’t go unnoticed.  
  
“First time in Goodneighbor and you bring a damn mutant with ya? Now that’s just a bad look,” a man said, standing over me. I grimaced up at him.  
  
“Oh sure, it was all planned out. Call it a fucking welcoming party,” I hissed, trying to regain the upper foot despite being crumbled at his feet. I spat at his shoes in defiance, and the goo was still bloody. Not good. He kicked me in my damaged side with his boot, somewhat deserved on my part. I winced but managed to repress a groan. Don’t know why the hell I thought salivating on people was going to get me anywhere, just knew I didn’t like the way he was talking to me, crippled or not.  
  
“Think you need to learn your place, stranger. In fact, I’m thinking that pack of yours, guns and all, will do just fine. Looks like you could use a doctor, and seeing as how we got one, I’m thinking the payment is more than fair,” he said threateningly, leaning over to grab my chin, shaking my head back and forth to evaluate my various wounds. “Oh yeah, you’re getting a hell of a deal, way I’m seeing it.”  
  
I quickly unholstered my gun, pressing the tip of it to his own chin. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I retorted before I pulled the trigger. His head exploded, gray matter and blood coating my face and the shattered bones of his skull leaving scrapes through my skin. My ears rang from the close proximity of the shot, and as seasoned as I was to gore at this point, I felt my stomach flop as the remains of his brain slid down my cheek. His body slid down and laid at my knees, and complete silence fell upon the onlookers. Suddenly, everyone’s attention was torn off of me when a man in a red coat sauntered over, his expression bemused. His skin was shot to hell, clearly irradiated. I’d seen a couple ghouls along the way, but they’d always been so shy of human company, I’d never had the continued exposure to get used to their… visual impact. I glanced around the square once more and realized there were a hell of a lot more of them here than I’d seen in the entirety of my travels so far. I refocused my attention on the man in front of me, who was now a couple steps away. He seemed to be taking me in, sizing me up. I made no facial expression, nor offered any words of explanation or apology. He’d seen the whole thing, he could be the judge.  
  
Finally, he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He extended an arm to shake my hand, which I did with generous physical discomfort.  
  
“Goddamn, I thought I’d seen it all. Hell of an entrance, sister. Welcome to Goodneighbor, Mayor Hancock at your service. Pleasure to meet you, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you stopped pointing that damn thing at me,” he said, glancing pointedly at my extended gun. I sighed, holstering it again.  
  
“Habit. Ever had your hand shaken while you stared down a barrel before?” I asked, trying to make light of the misstep.  
  
“Can’t say I have, but I’m loving all the firsts today. Here I was planning to lay down and string out on Jet all afternoon. This is way more entertaining. But hey, let’s get you on down to Amari before you bleed out in my damn square. Unfortunately, three bodies in one day is far from a first around here, but hell, today it seems preventable.” His grin was warm and inviting, even if his face was far from it. “Just to clarify before I help you over there, if I pull you on up and walk ya over, I’m not gonna get my head shot off too, am I?” I finally broke a smile, nodding my permission. He slid his arm underneath my own, lifting me to my feet before crutching me against his side. He waved his free hand dismissively at his constituents. “Show’s over, y’all. Move along,” he shouted, walking me slowly down the street. Ahead of us, red lights glowed welcomingly. The Memory Den.  
  
“Odd name for a doctor’s office,” I mused, the speech harder now that my adrenaline was gone.  
  
“Oh, it’s a hell of a lot more than some Commonwealth hospital. You’ll see once we’re inside. Fahr!” he yelled out to a redhead who was approaching us. She rose an exasperated eyebrow, taking in the scene.  
  
“Yes, boss?”  
  
“You mind grabbing a couple of the boys and cleaning the foyer up a bit? Finn is a bit… incapacitated, and we got a mutant on top of it.”  
  
“I heard some commotion,” she commented with little interest. “I’ll get it taken care of.”  
  
“You’re a doll,” he replied, pushing the door to the Den open. “You know typically I’m a ladies first kind of guy, but under the circumstances…” He positioned himself through the door first so that he could support my steps inside. I nodded in appreciation, saving my words for when my ribs were whole again.  
  
“Amari!” he shouted, setting me down carefully on a nearby couch. A sultry blond was sprawled over a couch opposite from mine, looking me over with resigned interest. I wondered at the fact that she hadn’t gotten up, but there had been many insinuations that this was not all that abnormal around here.  
  
“Yes, yes, I’m coming…” I heard mumbled from far off. Stairs creaked, and a brunette woman finally came into view, dolled out in the usual doctor’s overcoat. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she retreated quickly back down the stairs, returning moments later with bandages, antiseptic, and Stimpaks. She handed the bandages to Hancock, holding on to one as she poured the disinfectant over it.  
  
“This will hurt,” she warned shortly, and I laughed in spite of myself.  
  
“No shit, doc. Do what ya gotta do,” I allowed, taking a deep breath. Hancock grabbed the doctor’s wrist lightly to pause her actions. He pulled out a needle of his own, and looked into my eyes as if asking permission. I nodded, once again with appreciation. He shot me full of Med-x, earning him a look of disapproval from the doctor. He shrugged innocently, winking at me.  
  
Doctor Amari pulled my shirt up just enough to reveal the gaping wound beneath, and I inhaled sharply. It was somewhat comforting that I wasn’t being a little bitch about nothing, because it looked about as bad as it was feeling. Hell, there was even a fang sticking out of my skin, the majority of its length still jammed inside of me. Had a feeling that that jackass’s boot might have had something to do with that. Just as I felt the calming glow of the chem flow through my body, it was interrupted by excruciating pain. She slid the fang out and quickly covered the wound with the bandage, pressing down hard to control the bleeding. Hancock kneeled in front of me, carefully injecting a Stimpak between my healthy and damaged ribs. He knew to avoid the bones themselves, though it didn’t surprise me that he knew his way around a needle. Amari poured more antiseptic on my wound, and I finally let out a sharp yelp, the pain blinding my vision. I felt as though I was going to pass out, but I fought the urge and managed to win. Hancock injected another needle into my arm, and I sighed as another dose of Med-x flowed into my system, this one helping a lot more than the last.  
  
“You’re going to give her an overdose!” Amari scolded.  
  
“Heh, I think this one’s got a higher tolerance than you’re given her credit for. Don’t ya, sister?” I smirked and nodded sheepishly. “See? She’ll be just fine.”  
  
Amari shook her head in vehement disapproval, shooing him away once she had the work narrowed down to one person. He seceded, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he fell back and let her work. The wound was clotting beautifully thanks to the Stimpak, and finally she was able to release the pressure long enough to wrap bandages tightly around the wound.  
  
“The rib was cracked, but it should heal appropriately now, assuming you allow it time to,” she warned with reproach. “No more encounters with mutant hounds for a while,” she insisted, pointing at the fang. I nodded, thanking her and throwing her two bags, hundred caps in each.  
  
“Does that cover it?” I asked.  
  
“This is too much,” she replied, but I shook my head.  
  
“I’d like to think my life is worth at least 200 caps. Let me enjoy my delusion, eh?” I teased, resting my head against the back of the couch. I was fucking exhausted, but I knew my day was far from over. I still needed to find myself a room for the night, hopefully get some alcohol in me before I lost my damn mind, hell, I didn’t even know how pissed off this mayor was about me committing murder in his town. He sure didn’t seem too worried about it, but I wasn’t one for making assumptions. I started to get to my feet, and Hancock rushed over, gallant as ever. I almost rolled my eyes, but I figured he’d done me enough solids in our short-lived acquaintanceship that I could bare repressing it. I waved him off, making light of the pain.  
  
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Hell, maybe it’ll teach me not to go firing my gun off at every opportunity,” I joked, grimacing a bit as I went to take a step.  
  
“Hey, if this experience is making ya doubt your sense of adventure, I’ve got no choice but to help ya,” he teased, offering his arm. The eye roll was inevitable this time, but I knew I wasn’t making it many more steps without giving into some assistance. That hound had fucked me up better than I cared to admit. I grudgingly accepted his support, and his face lit up significantly.  
  
“You know what I think you need, sister? A taste of the Goodneighbor nightlife,” he offered, keeping me tight against him. I hadn’t been this close in proximity to anyone in a long damn time, and my skin crawled at the contact. Its necessity wasn’t lost on me, but these last few months on the road had made me a hell of a lot more wary of people than I used to be. An involuntary shudder went through me, and Hancock definitely seemed to notice. He loosened his grip somewhat, allowing me some space within our parasitic arrangement of limbs. I had to admit, he was quickly growing on me.  
  
“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” I reminded him, and he laughed heartily.  
  
“Nightlife around here doesn’t play by the rules of time, doll. If you got an itch, we got places to scratch it,” he said, and I didn't miss the innuendo. He should be thankful his charm was established enough that I didn’t write him off as a total creep. Bad things tended to befall creeps that got too mouthy with me.  
  
“Well if you’re offering, I’d love a drink or six before bedtime,” I admitted, stumbling a bit over the doorway out of the Den. He grinned.  
  
“I was hoping you’d feel that way,” he replied. “To the Third Rail it is.”

  



	2. A Few of My Favorite Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinks, chems, and Swans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this a little (lot) bit drunk. Forgive me for any errors. Again, any kudos/comments are welcome, whether positive or negative. Enjoy!

“So… Hancock. I’m guessing your choice of name and clothes aren’t a coincidence?” I asked, gesturing up and down at his unique fashion sense. He flashed a cocky grin, shrugging.

“As a matter of fact, they're not. John Hancock, as I’m lovingly referred to around these parts. Ya heard of him?” I snorted.

“You could say that,” I offered, not caring to elaborate.

“He was a badass in his day. I know less than I’d like to, but I know he was born rich, betrayed his aristocratic friends to join the Rebels, cared more about the people than the man. My kind of guy, thought it was only appropriate,” John explained, catching Charlie’s eye and nodding for another drink. I smiled in appreciation of his background. At least he wasn’t tramping around in a revered outfit with no knowledge of its history. 

“Yup, he was definitely a wildcard in their society. He was a smuggler too, went the long way around to avoid paying the British their taxes on imports, his ship was even seized by them at one point, ironically named _Liberty_. Famously quoted having said, ‘ _Let every man do what is right in his own eyes._ ’ Hell, he was even governor of Massachusetts for most of his life following the war,” I ranted. It was nice to have a reason to discuss history, it wasn’t an opportunity that had arisen much since the end of my frozen slumber. Hancock stared at me, thoroughly confused.

“Sister, I’ve ransacked the shit out of the Old Statehouse and haven’t come up with even half that information. You’re either making it up, or you got a longer story behind you than you’re letting on,” he mused, casting me a look of suspicion. I sighed. He’d find out one way or the other.

“I’m Pre-War,” I stated simply, shrugging. “Used to be a lawyer. You go through a lot of history courses to get that degree, especially regarding the Constitution. John Hancock happened to be a favorite of mine.”

“… pre-War?” John repeated in disbelief. “So you’re…”

“Over 2 centuries old, yeah. I’ve got this amazing face cream, you look like you could use it, it works wonders on wrinkles,” I joked, and it fell flat, of course. Just another perk of being the ‘woman out of time’, as Mama Murphy so eloquently put it. No one knows what the fuck you’re talking about. I groaned and threw back the rest of my drink, fixating my eyes on Charlie instead of Hancock. I could practically hear the gears in his brain turning. I chanced a peripheral glance at him, and his grin was wider than I’d seen to this point.

“Well goddamn sister, here I was thinking you couldn’t get more interesting,” he noted, that damn charm dripping from his declaration like ice cream melting off a waffle cone on a hot summer day. Just another useless reference, I lamented internally.

“Yeah, yeah, the novelty Vault Dweller, take a long look,” I commented with sarcastic hostility. His eyes popped at that.

“Oh _shit_ , the Vaultie. That makes a hell of a lot of sense, in retrospect,” Hancock exclaimed, lighting a cigarette in the interim. “I read that Diamond City article about you. Our folks ain’t exactly welcome ‘round those parts, but caravans keep us up to date on Piper’s swill. You’re the biggest news since my brother being a synth!”

I choked on my drink, the liquor burning in my lungs as I struggled to cough it back out.  
“Your—your brother?” I recovered hoarsely, finally returning his shock with some of my own. He enjoyed it immensely.

“That’s right, my maiden name was McDonough, before me and Hancock became one,” he drawled, winking at me. My eye rolls were entirely unchecked at this point. “He may have gotten Diamond City, but I’m definitely the prettier of the bunch, wouldn’t you agree?” he laughed, tipping his hat at me. I burst out laughing, nodding vehemently.

“You’ve got me there,” I agreed. “Jesus, you and that tight ass were raised together? How the hell does that happen?”

“Listen, between the two of us, all that talk about him being a synth… it ain’t entirely implausible to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen men change, and my brother wasn’t that great a person to begin with. But shit…” he mused, taking a long swig of his drink before chasing it with a longer hit of Jet. “… some things ain’t to be believed. They say if it walks and talks like a duck, it’s a damn duck. Me, I’m not so sure.”

I paused to consider this. I could have continued that increasingly deep conversation with a practical stranger, or I could do what I do best, and lighten things the fuck up. “I don’t think ducks talk, but I’ve seen weirder things out there in the ‘Wealth.” Hancock grinned, shrugging in agreement. I didn’t miss the flinch of his lips as he started in on a new drink, as if he was hoping to explore the topic more. I didn’t care much, if I’m being honest. I had enough of my own problems without playing shrink to the mayor of fucking Goodneighbor. I had a feeling that was a road that never ended.

“While we’re on the subject, have you seen that Swan?” he asked. I grew manically excited.

“YES! I passed it a couple days ago, matter of fact. I’m the last person to retreat from a fight, but even I knew I was gonna need way better weapons on hand before I threw down with that ugly ass thing,” I exclaimed.

“Sister, I’ve been meaning to sneak a vacation into my time. Let’s say the next time I’ve got a window open, me and you, we square up with it and see how things shake out,” he offered, almost a bit hesitantly. I fleetingly considered his offer before nodding enthusiastically. Nothing got me more excited than the thought of some good old-fashioned slaying.

“It’s a date,” I replied smoothly, and I was thrown off when I realized I might be flirting with this guy. This shriveled up, bleeding heart zombie mayor was reminding me of the itch I hadn’t scratched in a long damn time. God help me. For all that I was shaken up, Hancock seemed even more unearthed. He, however, recovered much more quickly than I did.

“Whatever you wanna call it, doll. Listen, you’re looking a little soft-eyed, and I know I’m a couple blocks down from Sober Street. Most of the time, I curve people down towards the Hotel Rexford, but a crippled, beautiful lady with limited cognitive functions don’t belong in that pit. Lemme get you set up at the Statehouse. I’ve got an old bed frame there, god knows there are enough mattresses laying around to make it resemble something worth sleeping in.” I considered his offer, eyeing him dubiously.

“You wanna take my drunk ass back to your place, under the pretense of looking out for my best interests?” I slurred, realizing how out of touch with things I really was. Should really remind myself not to mix Med-x with alcohol. Tolerance, non-existent. 

“Sister, I’ve done a lot of things in my life I ain’t proud to recount. Taking advantage ain’t one of them. Even with this mug, I do just fine going about things the respectable way,” he assured me, winking again. My eyes went 360. Wink, eye roll. At least we were establishing a rhythm. “But the only respectable option I see here is making sure my new friend ain’t surrounded by less noble men with much less noble intentions. Ya feel me?” I sighed and nodded. He slipped an arm underneath my torso, draping me against his chest. As repulsed by contact as I was earlier, I now found great comfort in it, and I drunkenly slopped my head against his chest. He smelled like tobacco, chemicals and booze. _These are a few of my favorite things…_

There’s a holotape I hope never to find.

When we arrived at his humble abode, he carefully laid me out on his couch, promising to return shortly. I rolled over, and to my great pleasure, was greeted with a coffee table strewn with every chem known to mankind. While I’m usually a lot more controlled in my substance (ab)use, my drunken stupor was nothing if not encouraging. Mentats, one of my favorite chems of choice, was plentiful, far exceeding in quantity than any other option. I popped a few out of a tin and chewed them with enthusiasm, slipping another bag of caps out of my pack and dropping it on the table. _Never pay less than the value of what you’re getting. If money is work translated into paper, than make sure you earned what you reep._ I briefly wondered how my father met his end, before the high penetrated my mind. His voice only grew stronger. _To take advantage, to rob a person in their desperation for compensation, is the surest way to become spoiled and complacent yourself._

Bad chem mix. This is the opposite of how I wanted to feel. I groaned, clutching my head, willing his memory to fade away. 

“Hey… you okay?” Hancock was standing over the back of the couch, reaching a hand out to feel my forehead. I popped up suddenly, desperate to escape my mind.

“Swan. Now.” I proclaimed. He rose an eyebrow at me, contemplating my suggestion.

“Sister, you were wasted a few minutes ago.” I shrugged and pointedly looked at the Mentats tin, and the caps I’d left on the table right next to it. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Okay, fine, but you’re still injured,” he reminded me, hesitant to indulge. I lifted my shirt enough for him to see the wound, completely scabbed over. I appraised it myself and found it in better condition than even I could have hoped. It was very persuasive. 

“I practically carried you over here!” he insisted, trying his best to be the voice of reason, a role that Hancock clearly had little experience in. I evaluated the situation and chose to play at his weak spot.

“Maybe I just wanted your arm around me,” I said in my best attempt at seduction. I was clearly better at arousal than he was at being responsible. He paused momentarily, once again giving me the sensation that he was sizing me up. Finally, he grinned widely and propped the door open for me, sighing in defeat.

“ _Let every man do what is right in his own eyes,_ ” Hancock quoted perfectly. I damn near kissed him.


	3. Swan Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock & Sole battle the infamous Swan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total filler, but it was fun to write, and I'm nothing if not self-indulgent. Enjoy, and hang in there! Things will speed up a lot from this point.
> 
> P.S. I'm on a roll with updates, and I've got the next two chapters already written and awaiting a thorough edit. If you're looking to stay up to date, bookmarking would be a good way to do so. ;)

Hancock insisted that we stop by KLEO’s place, reminding me of my earlier admission that I needed better weapons. Personally, I wanted a close, intense fight, but he was adamant about it. 

“I’m not about to waste my immortality on some pint-sized Behemoth,” he joked half-heartedly. I caught him side-eyeing me a couple times, and I could tell he thought I was out of my damn mind. He wasn’t wrong, to be fair. It had been a couple days since I’d last slept, and even through the Mentats high I could feel the fog settling into my brain. No better time for an adrenaline rush.

The walk over to Swan Pond was relatively uneventful. We wiped out a small pack of Raiders, testing out our battle compatibility. We both had an aggressive approach to combat, preferring to rush in, raise hell, and leave a bloody mess. Between my Spray n’ Pray and the Ashmaker Hancock had lifted off of Fahrenheit, we were a formidable pair. Hancock had a Fat Man hung off his shoulder, and I rolled my eyes every time my eyes made contact with it.

“What’s with the security blanket?” I seethed, annoyed that he brought along an insurance policy.

“Well considering you were bleeding out a couple hours ago, I thought it could come in handy if things get hairy,” he explained, unapologetic. 

“I can handle my own,” I insisted, anger building up and buzzing beneath my skin.

“Wouldn’t be out here with ya if I doubted that,” he appeased, clearly ready to drop the subject. That made one of us.

“That mini nuke hanging off your back says plenty,” I replied, itching for an argument. He laughed and shook his head.

“Sister, how about you save the talk and prove to me that I didn’t need to bring it along? I promise I ain’t gonna blow it off unless I gotta,” he assured me, grinning. _Fine by me_ , I thought. If he wanted a show of ability, he sure as shit was about to get one. 

We arrived at the edge of the lake, and Hancock began stalking along the length of it, trying to identify where Swan was lurking. I saw a chance to make an impression and took it. I pressed down on the trigger of the minigun, spraying bullets across the length of the water’s surface, ripples exploding and splashing us with filthy droplets of water. Hancock’s mouth had dropped open in surprise, and he immediately began spitting out murky sludge.

“Thanks for the heads up,” he remarked sarcastically. I smirked at him and shrugged. The conversation cut off abruptly when Swan came storming out of the lake, roaring in rage. I stood my ground and ripped holes into him, screaming as he charged at me. 

“Jesus Christ!” Hancock yelled out, grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking me backward as the Swan smashed the boat strapped to his arm into the ground where I’d been standing moments before. I laughed hysterically, inching backwards and continuing to empty my clip into him as he recovered from his violent thrust. It didn’t take long, and the fucker was a lot faster than he looked. This time I had the sense to retreat momentarily, finding higher ground before resuming my attack. Hancock seemed to have somewhat accepted my borderline suicidal lack of caution, instead focusing his efforts on his own assault. He kept a good distance from the monstrosity but proceeded to unload his rounds into him, his eyes locked onto their target instead of worrying about what the fuck I was doing. About time. 

Swan seemed confused initially, glancing between the two of us, assessing who he should attack first. This time around, he chose Hancock. I imagined a bull charging at a red cloth, and in my manic state, my laughter was uncontrollable. It was unfortunately short-lived, as things stopped being funny when Hancock copied my stance, refusing to stand down as the Swan closed the distance between them. I sighed heavily before screaming, “HEY SHIT FOR BRAINS! OVER HERE!” I aimed shots at Swan’s head for good measure, and he roared in anger before refocusing his attention my way. He was growing slower, and I knew he was running low on life force. Of course, upon reaching this realization, my damn clip ran out of bullets. I growled in frustration before tossing my weapon aside, pulling my machete out from my belt. In the distance, I could hear Hancock screaming at me.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he demanded, frantically chasing after Swan as he continued his shots. I tossed the knife back and forth between my hands, waiting for my ideal moment. When the beast was inches away from me, lifting the boat in preparation for another swing, I jumped up and gripped it tightly, climbing it aptly and throwing myself onto his neck. The bull analogy only became more appropriate as he bucked and tried to throw me off of him. I enjoyed the high, refusing to relinquish my grasp as my legs flew backward behind me. Once the appeal faded, I slit his throat with one firm, sharp swipe across his neck. The sensation of my blade slicing through the thick muscles of his neck was intensely satisfying, and I bit my lip softly, relishing in the catharsis. He thrashed momentarily afterwards, as if his brain hadn't gotten the signal that his body was bleeding out. After a couple moments, he swayed thickly before dropping forward anti-climatically. I sat atop of his corpse, straddling the back of my fallen enemy as blood pooled onto my boots.

“Sister, you’re a fucking psychopath,” Hancock breathed in amazement, sighing and shaking his head at the sight. I fell backwards and rolled off of the body, lapsing into a fit of giggles. I’d fallen into a puddle of his blood, and I could feel it thickly soaking into my hair and coating my neck. I reveled in it, physical evidence that I’d conquered the brute force of him. 

“That was exactly what I needed,” I commented with satisfaction, sighing contently as the laughter faded away. Hancock offered me a hand which I willingly accepted, feeling a sharp throb in my abdomen.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s what your ribs needed,” Hancock commented dryly, pointing at my shirt. I looked down and noticed a small, red stain forming on it. Swan’s blood had been a strange, murky brown color, but this stain was a vibrant scarlet color. Shit. Cracked it again.

I shrugged in amusement. “It ain’t nothing serious this time around. Amari’s got her work cut out for her,” I replied calmly. It was starting to hurt more as the adrenaline faded, but I couldn’t find it within myself to worry about it. We were close enough to a doctor to appease any concern I’d normally have.

“She’s going to kill me,” Hancock laughed, grinning at me. “You need an arm again?”

“Naw, I’ll deal, thanks anyway,” I replied, sliding a Stimpak out of my pack and injecting it with ease near the wound. I was still a little buzzed from the Mentats, and it helped smooth over the pain enough that I could handle the walk back.

“Suit yourself, doll.” We fell into a witty banter during the walk back, in spite of the ache every laugh burned into my side. He recounted the tale from his perspective, and even I had to admit that riding the Behemoth was pretty fucking psychotic from an outsider’s point of view. I teased him for his refusal to back down with Swan towering over him, to which he could only reply, “Well shit, you had just done the same thing! I’m not about to let the fresh-out-the-vault chick outdo me! What would the people say?” I cracked up at this, pausing to prop myself against a building until the laughter subsided. We were nearly back to Goodneighbor, which was a relief for the growing discomfort in my side.

“You better get used to getting outdone, you haven't seen half of what I'm capable of,” I joked, grinning confidently. He nodded in resignation.

“You’ve got that right, even I ain’t about to go horseback riding on some mutated giant's neck,” he agreed. “Jesus, next you’ll be trying to put a saddle on a Deathclaw.”

“Ugh, absolutely not. Can you imagine how uncomfortable those scales would be after a couple hours of riding?” I considered. He snorted.

“Love the practicality. Wish I’d seen more of that twenty minutes ago,” he replied sarcastically. I grinned and rushed forward to grasp the handle of Goodneighbor’s door. I opened it chivalrously, bowing in mock respect. I barely held back a painful groan, but his face was worth it. He wasn’t used to being on this side of things.

“After you,” I breathed, smirking at him. He cocked an eyebrow, hesitantly heading inside before holding the door open for my own entrance. I smiled sweetly and nodded my thanks, sending him into a curtsy of his own. The moment took a surreal turn when I noticed how drenched in blood he was, streaks lining his face almost comically. The zombie comparison I’d previously made was glaringly accurate now, and I’m sure I wasn’t looking any better off. What a fucking sight we must be. I glanced up and saw Daisy shaking her head at us as she wiped her counter, smiling in amusement. KLEO seemed unbothered, but eyed Hancock pointedly until he approached the counter and returned the Fat Man and mini nuke.

“Turns out we didn’t need it after all,” he commented, grinning at me. I smirked, nodding at him cockily.

“Don’t you fucking forget it, either,” I chastised. By this point, the Mentats’ effect was non-existent, and I grunted in pain as I began my walk down to Amari’s. He offered his arm once again but I waved him off. I’d made it this far, I could make it the rest of the way. He paused at my side, glancing between me and the Old Statehouse. I threw a hand dismissively, continuing my stride.

“I’ve got this covered, I’ll swing by after she’s done. No need to get you in trouble twice in one day.” He smiled appreciatively, slipping away into the shadows. I glanced up at the sky and realized that night had fallen. Goddamn, my sense of time was shot to shit. I tried to remember what time of day it had been back when we arrived at Swan Pond and failed. I seriously needed to take a damn nap. 

I took a deep breath before creaking the door open, peering into The Memory Den. Amari and the blonde were deep in conversation, but stopped abruptly when they saw me poking my head in. Amari groaned in frustration, throwing her hands in the air.

“If it’s your ribs again, this is the last time I’m fixing them!” she exclaims. “No one around here listens worth a damn!” I smiled sheepishly, moving my hands to reveal the pool of blood crusting on my shirt. She sighed heavily, motioning me over with exasperation. I had a feeling this was would become a common ritual, assuming I stayed around long enough to let it. The idea of staying wasn’t as nauseating as it usually was. This was a town I could get used to.


	4. Local Crime-Fighting Extraordinaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock involves his favorite Vaultie in some local civic duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty fun to write. I basically just enjoy the thrill of bastardizing canon plotlines. Hope you guys enjoy!

Unfortunately, my plan to immediately rendezvous with Hancock wasn’t what the Doctor ordered, to say the least. As soon as Amari had my rib patched back up, she injected me with a ‘Stimpak’ that knocked me unconscious within seconds. Upon awakening, I seethed over the lack of a legal system implemented within the Commonwealth. Being injected unknowingly with an undisclosed medication? I tried to imagine the lawsuit _that_ would have been in my time.

As hard as I tried to stay mad about it, Amari’s decision wasn’t without merit. I slept without further aid for nearly two days straight, and woke feeling more refreshed than I had since emerging from the Vault. My mind seemed significantly clearer than I’d become accustomed to, and I reluctantly noted to myself that sleep should _probably_ become a bit more of a priority. Not that I would _ever_ admit that to Amari. 

Despite my… disapproval with her methods, I still left her a generous payment before exiting the Den, mumbling under my breath about questionable medical ethics. The sunshine beaming down over the neighborhood burned my retinas, and I pulled a pair of borrowed shades out of my pack, squinting as my vision acclimated to the change. I reminded myself that I should really check in with Deacon soon, before he decided to start stalking me again (assuming he wasn’t already. That man is annoying good at what he does.) There was little cloud cover today, and the warmth of the rays of light warmed my skin pleasantly. I’d been pale as hell my whole life, but after a couple of months wandering the ‘Wealth incessantly, my skin had finally embraced some color. I admired the toasty tone it had progressed into, the previously invisible blonde hairs of my arm standing out in contrast against it. Funny, the things my mind distracted itself with. I shook off the thoughts and continued down the street. I impulsively decided to explore the other half of Goodneighbor before making my way back to the Old Statehouse. Funny that I’d been here for a couple days now and hadn’t even properly toured the town, despite how small an area it covered. I wandered down an alley, wondering if there was more to the town that I was missing. Instead, I was met with a group of extremely belligerent Gunners. Despite their grandiose bragging and vastly accepted reputation as ruthless mercenaries, I always found them underwhelming in combat. Without anything to hide behind, they were nearly as incompetent as Raiders. All the better for me. 

I searched their bodies after the brief tussle and lifted a couple of machine guns from their corpses. KLEO could probably throw me a good amount of caps for their idiocracy. I even lifted a fedora from one of them, purposefully choosing the one most soaked in blood. I wore it ironically for the rest of my tour with a smirk planted firmly on my face. A subtle but efficient message to anyone else who had a mind to size up the new girl. A guard eyed me suspiciously when I emerged from the alley, and I wondered at the fact that he’d heard gunfire and remained stagnant in his post. This place was just full of surprises. I tipped my newly found fedora at him with purpose, and he grinned.

“Here I was getting worried I’d have to deal with them myself,” he drawled, nodding to me appreciatively. I sighed, resigned to the nonchalance to violence around here.

“Oh yeah, no problem, man. I’m just the local crime-fighter around here,” I replied sarcastically (that comment would become bitterly ironic later on.) He shrugged, ignoring my obvious annoyance with his lack of initiative.

“Someone’s got to be,” he commented neutrally.

_You think it would be the people paid to do so_ , I thought grudgingly, but I swallowed my pride and dropped the conversation, walking away from the altercation with substantial self-control on my part. Picking a fight with the neighborhood watch my first couple days in town probably wasn’t the most practical move, despite its glaring appeal. Part of that appeal was probably just my authority issues, anyway. 

“Hey! Vaultie!” a familiar voice rang out. My fingers twitched towards my holster before my vision confirmed that it was, in fact, Hancock. I tried to play off the motion, but he didn’t miss much, and he sure as hell didn’t miss any opportunities to make a dig at me. He rose his hands in a mock truce, taking a playful step backwards. “Whoa, relax! I left my shotgun upstairs, don’t wanna be the idiot bringing a knife to a gunfight.”

I grinned sheepishly, waving a pretend flag of surrender. “Reflexes are a bitch,” I allowed, trying to lighten what could easily become an awkward situation. He was more than willing to move right along.

“So are broken ribs. You doing any better? Amari told me she drugged you to sleep pretty damn good. Hard to blame her, really. You probably would’a broken that damn thing at least three more times before it healed straight,” he hypothesized, smirking at me knowingly. Pretty weird, that he thought he was familiar enough with me to do that. Weirder that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Not crazy about being blindly shot up with mystery meds, personally,” I loathed, glaring at him. 

“ _Heyyy_ now, sister. I can appreciate you not liking people making judgment calls on your behalf. Let’s chalk it up to a, uh… medical emergency,” he nervously laughed, clearly hoping I’d bury the hatchet on this one. I sighed in frustration before allowing him a shit-eating grin.

“Fine Hancock, but the next time she injects me with anything that I don’t personally clear, I’m going to lift a couple prescriptions from her cabinet that she doesn’t clear, if you know what I mean,” I grumbled, still sulking over things. I knew it wasn’t something I’d actually follow through with, but I _was_ curious how he would respond. Hancock considered this for a moment before shaking his head. 

“Naw, that’s a no-go,” he replied firmly, stopping in front of my path. I cocked an eyebrow, folding my arms over my torso in defiance.

“Why is that a no-go, but what she did is acceptable?” I challenged. I loved a good debate, especially when ethics were involved. Damn lawyer in me. He sighed, adjusting his hat uncomfortably as he pondered the question.

“It’s not acceptable, but it’s not serious enough of a crime that I’m willing to get my people involved. Here in Goodneighbor, we believe in a bit of… self-regulation. Problems tend to solve themselves, one way or another. But stealing is something I’m not willing to overlook,” he affirmed, standing his ground. “The reality is, Amari helps people. She’s got a heavier hand than she should at times, I’ll give ya that, but usually people put her in her place if she oversteps too far. You should give her a talking to about it, I can voach that she’s usually pretty good about listening. But my principle is, you help those who need help, and you hurt those who need hurting. She’s a helper, so she don’t get hurt. You need to understand that if you plan on sticking around here,” he finished, clearly awaiting an answer from me. Libertarian style of government, got it.

“I wasn’t actually going to do it,” I assured him, and he visibly relaxed. “Just wanted to get a handle on how things run around here.” I gestured around us, to drifters and neighborhood watch alike. “Trying to get a feel for things before I decide to take up here more permanently.” 

Hancock was clearly taken aback by this, and a long silence fell over us. He seemed to be working something out in his mind, but he finally broke his conversational fast, motioning for me to follow him. We entered the Old Statehouse, and I slipped off my sunglasses and tucked them carefully into the top of my shirt. God forbid anything happened to those damn things. They may be Deacon’s backup pair, but his emotional attachment didn’t seem affected by that minor detail. 

Hancock gestured for his guards to retreat outside. Fahrenheit cocked her head at him, wondering if the motion included herself as well. He shook his head before nodding towards his quarters. She followed us in, eyeing me suspiciously. 

“Look, Nora…” he began. I grimaced, regretting not for the first time that I’d given Piper that interview. It had seemed practical for my cause at the time, but I intentionally avoided sharing my name with people I encountered on the road. If there was one principle I’d picked up from the Railroad with ease, it was limiting the people you trust, especially with your identity. I’d purposefully withheld it from Hancock for the time being, and it grated my nerves that he knew it anyway. “You seem like you dig the Goodneighbor lifestyle. Of the people, for the people, and all that shit. That combined with your reputation for… getting shit done, it makes me wonder if you might be an asset in disguise,” he mused cryptically. He fell silent for a moment, and impatience flooded through me.

“ _And?_ ,” I interrupted. He sighed before continuing.

“And I’m not used to laying this much faith in a person from the jump, so gimme a sec, alright?” he growled, frustration clouding his countenance. I sighed but allowed him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Alright, here’s where I’m at… Bobbi No-Nose is a ghoul living up the street from here. I’ve been getting a fair amount of intel that she’s up to some shit, some _treacherous_ shit, ya feel me?” I nodded, interested. “Typically, I’m hands-off, as we already discussed. But this is a more… personal affront,” he explained.

“You’re leaving out a lot of information,” I reminded him. His annoyance peaked.

“Yeah, I am. Is that a problem?” he asked, and I glared at him.

“Damn right it is. What exactly is she doing wrong?” I demanded. “I’m not getting blindly involved in something without being on the up-and-up. You of all people should appreciate that,” I reminded him callously. He considered this for a moment before nodding, somewhat abashed.

“Alright, alright, I feel ya, sister. Look, she’s been planning a heist… the details are pretty murky, but it seems like she’s targeting yours truly. I’ve got a storeroom nearby, and her and her crew have been making steady progress towards it for a couple days now. She’s been planting rumors that Diamond City is her target, but if that’s the case, she’s finally gone feral, because she sure as shit ain’t heading in that direction. The only reason they haven’t reached my storeroom already is the mirelurk and ghoul infestations in the tunnels they’re excavating. She’s been trying and failing to recruit some muscle to handle it. That’s where, I’m hoping, you come in,” he explained. He stared at me intently, trying to gauge my reaction. 

Fahrenheit interjected. “You realize this chick has committed multiple murders, inside town limits, in the past couple days that she’s been here?” she asked, her accusations lacking in detail but true nonetheless.

“Just Finn and a couple of Gunners… They started it,” I replied almost childishly. Hancock snorted at this and waved off Fahrenheit. 

“I’m already up to speed on that, give me some credit, Fahr. She ain’t done nothing that they weren’t asking for, I’m cool with how things played out. This job, though. This is what’ll tell me what team Vaultie bats for,” he explained, and it felt more like he was warning me than reassuring Fahrenheit. “So, what’ll it be, Nora?” I cringed yet again, and I had a feeling it was only going to encourage him to keep it up with the first-name habit. Needed to get that tell in check.

I refocused my attention to the decision in front of me. On one hand, I didn’t know Hancock well enough to take him at his word, regardless of my (mostly) positive impression thus far. On the other hand, I’d taken jobs on much less intel than what I’d been given. My approach was usually to take the offer at its word, and change course down the road if things weren’t as... _kosher_ as my employer implied. I couldn’t find a reason why this situation was any different, so I agreed with minimal hesitation. A wide grin spread across Hancock’s face, and he reached out to shake my hand. I returned the shake enthusiastically and firmly, and was pleasantly surprised by the texture of his skin. It was much softer than it appeared, in spite of its many ridges and valleys. This contrast between my expectations and reality reminded me of the first time I’d held a snake. I’d been just as shocked by the unexpectedly pleasant texture when I’d been expecting something slimy and grotesque. Unfortunately, I figured this was just another metaphor that would not only be lost on present company, but unappreciated if explained. I was somehow sure that Hancock noticed my mind wandering, but if he did, he made no mention of it. 

“Great. So just join up with her team, babysit them as they move along, try to delay their progress if you get any subtle opportunities to, keep me up to date on their progress and location whenever possible, and if she makes it to the storeroom, I’ll make sure you aren’t lacking for backup. As far as the reward… if Bobbi is up to what I think she is, I expect there’ll be an residential opening in town pretty soon here. All yours if things shake out the way I see them happening. If not, I’ll throw you some caps for your time. But don’t worry, I got another job in mind that’ll yield another residential opportunity if Bobbi’s more innocuous than she seems. Pretty sure you’d be more comfortable in a house than a warehouse though,” Hancock joked, almost more to Fahrenheit than me. She snorted softly at this, rolling her eyes at Hancock.

“Let’s focus on one thing at a time, Boss,” she reprimanded in good humor. He nodded, wandering over to the coffee table and picking up a canister of Jet, placing it between his lips and inhaling deeply. He sighed out the fumes, his face falling into a state of utter relaxation. He offered the inhaler to me, and I grinned, nodding appreciatively. 

“As of right now, Bobbi is sitting on her ass at her place, fuming over not being able to move forward. I think we can allow you a personal day before ya get started,” he offered, gesturing to his table full of party favors. I smirked back at him and nodded in agreement. He sat down on the couch and began tapping at an unlabeled syringe, clearing out any residual air with expert finesse.

“Hey, you’re the boss,” I replied, plopping down beside him and sprawling my legs across the table. I laced my fingers together behind my head, a caricature of ease. “I’ve certainly been paid to do worse things.”

“Ohhh, I _bet_ you have” he joked, voice heavy with implication as he raised his eyebrows at me. I shoved him a little too aggressively, laughing in spite of myself. Things were easy with this guy. I hoped to god they stayed that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos are much appreciated! Also, I'm GOD AWFUL at summaries and have been brainstorming for a couple days now about a better one for the story so far. Doesn't need to be specific really, just something better than my current, "IT IS _EXACTLY_ LIKE NEARLY EVERY OTHER HANCOCK/SS FANFIC YOU HAVE EVER READ!" If you guys have any suggestions, I'm so beyond open to them. Anyway, enjoy!


	5. Enemy of My Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock and Deacon have a volatile altercation, much to Nora's awkward discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR THE KUDOS/COMMENTS/LOVE. You guys really know how to make a gal feel special.

Bobbi was a major pain in the ass. The positive side of things was that she was so busy trying to be stealthy about her true intentions that she never quite thought far enough ahead to question mine. It was a little too easy to subtly redirect her focus whenever she was on the cusp of a revelation.

_’You know, you never did tell me why you’re so eager to get on Diamond City’s bad side.’_

_‘You know, I’m not convinced they’re the target in the first place...’_

_‘Hey now, you betta watch that mouth of yours. Remember who’s paying ya, ya hear me?’_

She made infiltration too fucking easy. My biggest problem was keeping my snickers to myself whenever she threw the word ‘mobster’ around. I knew mobsters in my days as a lawyer. This bitch clearly had no idea what the term entailed.

I occassionally let a Mirelurk or ghoul get a good rip in her before taking them down. It bought us time, and Hancock wanted to delay the operation, god knows why. Since he was the one paying, I wasn’t about to argue. Even so, we made reasonable time getting to the basement beneath the storeroom. I convinced Bobbi that it was a bad idea to immediately infiltrate it when we were all exhausted, and after a long discussion (altercation, more like), we pulled back and decided that the following day would be our grand entrance. Me, I was just trying to make sure Hancock had no excuse not to have his people waiting on the other side of that damn door. I could easily take out Bobbi by myself, but I didn’t want to have to kill Mel. He was a lot more likely to stand down after Bobbi was confronted by Hancock’s people than he would be if I just started firing on Bobbi seemingly out of nowhere. Let him see the truth for himself, I’d decided.

Hancock and I had previously agreed that meeting up in Goodneighbor was a bad look, regardless of whether or not Bobbi believed my allegiance. If she saw me openly talking to Hancock every time we took a break, even a broad as dense as her might start putting things together. Instead, we took to meeting up in the Old Corner Bookstore just outside Goodneighbor. Me and Deacon had made a bit of a project out of it, taking occasional breaks in our duties to clean up the debris and sift through what remained of long forgotten, pre-war literature. As a result, we’d taken care to reinforce the doors and set up enough machinegun turrets to take out an army of Super Mutants if the need arose. If there was one thing me and Deac’ had in common, it was our love of literature. Goddamn Raiders weren’t coming anywhere near it. Our militant diligence had the unexpected perk of providing a secure meet up spot for Hancock and I, even though I was still hesitant to reveal the location to him at all. 

Not long after I’d arrived at the Bookstore, I heard Hancock knocking on the entrance. We’d developed a coded knock to ensure identity, and after I’d refused to add him to the turrets’ 'friendly faces' database, he definitely wasn’t inclined to waltz right in. He voiced muffled impatience through the door as I disabled the turrets on a nearby terminal. After I was done, I stood outside the door snickering as he grew more and more annoyed.

“How long does it take to punch a few keys, for fuck’s sake?” he whined, slamming on the door in frustration. “Come on, let me in! Hello? _Nora_?!” 

I finally threw the door open, glaring at him. “I told you to stop calling me that! And you definitely shouldn’t be shouting it in the middle of the street!” I scolded, glaring at him. He smirked and sauntered inside, walking past me to the couch in the back corner of the room. He plopped down with ease, pulling a tin of Mentats out of his jacket. 

“Maybe next time you won’t just stand there laughing at me?” he replied, and I smiled guiltily. Didn’t realize he actually _knew_ about that. “Truce?” he asked, shaking the chems inside their container. I grinned, making my way over and taking a seat next to him. I silently pondered the increase in my chem usage since associating with Hancock, but dismissively wrote it off as a 'short-term occupational hazard'.

We both chewed our respective pills in silence before he got down to business. “So, what’s the news?” he asked, almost without interest. 

“Tomorrow morning, we break into the storeroom. Description and location match, it’s definitely yours.” He nodded, unsurprised. “You ready for that?” I asked, almost a little aggressively. He sure as shit better be, I’d already bought him way more time than he should have needed. He smirked widely, nodding with enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah, I’m ready. Fahrenheit is already sleeping over there, and we’ve set up quite a welcoming party,” he chuckled, his arms splayed on the back of the couch. I rose an eyebrow but didn’t question him further. I’d always loved a good surprise.

“Whatever you say, boss,” I replied, tugging my pack over to me and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. “Care to celebrate a job successfully done?” I asked, smirking at him. He rolled his eyes but held his hand out anyway. I was starting to feel a strong high from the Mentats, but I knew from experience that it could always be better with alcohol. Hell of a combination, in my opinion.

“Job ain’t done until Bobbi’s gone cold, but hell, I’ve never been one to turn down a good time. Might as well just hang out here for the night anyway since most of my usual company is sleeping over at the storeroom.” I wondered how many he’d actually sent over there, but I supposed it didn’t matter much anyway. It was more for show that we have backup at all. I had no doubt I could take out Bobbi myself if things went wrong. Mel, though…

“I know I’ve said this a thousand times now, but seriously, Mel-”

“Sister, I know,” he interrupted. “Mel don’t know, Mel don’t get hurt. Trust me. My boys are all up to speed, you ain’t got nothing to worry about” he reassured me once again. I nodded, taking a swig out of our bottle. Suddenly I heard the door creak, and my hand went straight for my holster. Hancock looked at me with confusion. The sound had been nearly non-existent, and he didn’t seem to have caught it. Me, I don’t miss anything.

“What the-” he got out before I shushed him, stealthily crawling behind a nearby bookcase as I slowly approached the door. I’d been sitting just outside of the appropriate vantage point to get a glimpse of who had just entered. Despite my growing suspicion, I wasn’t taking any chances. I took a deep breath before spinning out from my hiding spot, nearly colliding with Deacon crouching on the other side.

“Jesus, way to give a guy a heart attack,” he chuckled, rising to his feet. I grinned widely, throwing my arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Ditto, you fucker. Can’t just announce yourself?” I complained, patting him on the back before pulling away. 

“Not really my style. What’s with the guest? I liked our hermit lifestyle, was thinking about getting a couple of cats...” he drawled, eyeing Hancock as he approached us. He was looking at Deacon with a strong disgust that I couldn’t place. My stomach dropped in trepidation. He let the Railroad run operations out of Goodneighbor without intervention, I’d considered him an ally, but… 

“Deacon,” he acknowledged coldly with a short nod. Deacon grinned hesitantly and nodded back, more warmly than I’d been expecting.

“Good to see ya, Mayor. It’s been a long time,” he commented. His tone was light, but there seemed to be an underlying anxiety behind it.

“Someone wanna explain the dynamic here?” I asked with mild annoyance.

They both shrugged noncommittally, and I sighed in frustration. “Well alright then. Me and Hancock were just starting in a bottle of the good stuff, if you’d like to join us,” I offered. Deacon looked to Hancock, who remained silent for a moment before commenting.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Hancock replied casually, though his body language was anything but. I shook my head at the two of them before retreating back to the couch, reclaiming the bottle I’d abandoned on the floor. I took a healthy swig before passing it off to Deacon, who practically chugged the damn thing. He and Hancock were staring at each other in obvious discomfort, and I was getting really sick of being left out of the loop.

“Alright, what the fuck, guys? What’s the deal?” I blurted out, glaring at Deacon.

“Me and Hancock have a history. We dated back in the day, real hot and heavy stuff, until he caught me hooking up with Fahr behind his back-”

“Oh yeah, keep pissing me off, Deacon, worked out real well for you last time,” Hancock hissed threateningly, rising to his feet. Deacon matched him, taking a confident step forward.

“As I recall, it didn’t end well for you either,” he replied, abandoning his usual playful tone entirely.

“Now _there’s_ a lie no one’s ever going to believe,” Hancock retorted coldly, his fists tightening at his sides. I groaned and stepped between them, a hand on each chest as I pushed them apart. Jesus christ, why did I even ask?

“Deacon, explain, _now_ ,” I demanded. He started to open his mouth, and I shook my head. “Not the time for creative story-telling. Just tell it to me straight,” I added, glaring at him. He rolled his eyes, shoving my hand off his chest before sinking back down into an armchair near the couch. He sprawled a leg across the arm, sinking down and propping his cheek on his hand as he continued to glare at Hancock.

“Hancock blames me for Switchboard. Last time we rendezvoused, he was pretty vocal about it. And when vocal didn’t work, he was pretty _physical_ about it,” he explained, hatred burning into his words. I also briefly saw a flicker of guilt run across his face, but he suppressed it almost instantly. 

_Jesus, am I seriously about to play relationship counselor to these assholes?_ , I lamented internally, groaning in frustration. Biggest problem I saw here was that Hancock wasn’t the only one who blamed Deacon for Switchboard. Deacon carried quite a bit of self-hatred over the whole thing, though he’d never told me enough specifics for me to figure out why.

“Why the fuck weren’t you there?” Hancock finally exploded. “Jesus christ, Deacon, I _told_ you they were coming!”

“ _I tried!_ ” Deacon shouted, throwing his arms in the air. “Your lead didn’t get to me until it was too fucking late!”

“Maybe if you checked your fucking dead drops as much as you check your fucking wig, you would have made it in time!” Hancock yelled, getting a little too close to Deacon for my liking. I didn’t want to have to choose sides here, but if Hancock was seriously thinking about trying anything, Goodneighbor was going to need a new mayor. “Beatrice is fucking dead!” 

_Fucking hell, there’s a chick involved..._ I pinched the bridge of my nose in unease.

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?” Deacon screamed, bursting to his feet and shoving Hancock. “You think you’re the only one who cared about her, Hancock?! I cared about _everyone_ there, and they’re _all_ dead, so yeah, keep talking to me about your one loss when I lost damn near _everyone!_ ” Hancock’s arm twitched backwards, and my hand went for my holster before he let it fall limp at his side once again, shaking his head and walking away. He paced in a circle nearby for a few moments before returning, significantly more composed than before but still visibly shaking.

“That dead drop was _your_ fucking responsibility. You told me you checked it frequently, you _told_ me you’d keep her safe,” he finally said, his tone shaking from his effort to stay calm. Deacon didn’t reply initially, instead burying his head in his hands. I walked over and awkwardly patted his back, eternally graceless with comfort. He finally spoke, his words barely distinguishable. I pulled my hand back like he burned me, and he might as well have. He was fucking _crying_? Nope, can’t handle this. I shuffled backwards slowly, trying to put distance between me and their feud. I hoped that they were wrapped up enough in their soap opera for me to take a drink (or three) out of the bottle without looking too dismissive, because this way getting to be _way_ too fucking much for me. 

“I know,” Deacon whispered huskily. I darted my eyes around the room, my new strategy to pretend that this wasn’t happening at all. I finally backed myself up against a bookcase, into the shadows so that I was barely even visible to either of them. _Oh yeah, guys, don’t mind me, I’ll just be fucking the hell off over here…_

Hancock stared at him for a long time before he eventually nodded, finally sitting back down on the couch. He took off his hat and held it between his hands, fidgeting with the corners. Deacon pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with trembling hands before offering the pack to Hancock. Hancock hesitated before retrieving one for himself. They lit their sticks and sat in uncomfortable silence, neither seeming sure how to break it. I decided to make my grand re-entrance.

“Well, I think we got a lot accomplished here today!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “Got a lot out, made a lot of progress! Can we get back to drinking now?” I asked hopefully. 

“So what the hell happened?” Hancock asked, turning to face Deacon as if I’d never spoken. I sighed in defeat and slumped down to the floor, unwillingly to get any closer. They obviously had no plans to shut the hell up any time soon. I decided to just get hammered by myself while they hashed it out. _Should’a just stayed in the damn shadows…_

“Dez had me on a _lot_ of missions at the time, I was doing the work of three heavies by myself… not that that’s anything new... Anyway, I just... got distracted. Didn’t check the dead drop for a couple of days. By the time I did, I raced back to Switchboard, but it… they were already…” He sighed heavily, recoiling into the armchair. I averted my eyes from him, deciding instead to pick at my cuticles. I liked hanging around Deacon because of the _lack_ of emotional shit. This was way outside my comfort zone. 

Hancock nodded, lost in thought. Deacon wasn’t offering up any further explanation, and another awkward silence resulted. I took yet another sip, the bottle halfway empty now.

“You plan on sharing that, sister?” Hancock finally asked, breaking the sizable tension. I grinned widely, confident enough that things were over to rejoin them. It seemed like they were finally done, and I was drunk enough that I'd gladly welcome some human interaction. I handed the bottle off to Hancock, who chugged his way through half of the remainder before passing it to Deacon. He finished off the rest. 

“I really am sorry,” Deacon mumbled, his voice hoarse from the sting of the liquor. Hancock sighed, putting his hat back on before replying.

“Yeah, me too, brother,” he admitted. “Shouldn’a put all the blame on you. Forgot who the real enemy is.” Deacon glanced at me after he said this, and for once, the emotions were felt by all of us. Desperate to escape them, I reopened my pack and retrieved three bottles of wine, uncorking them expertly and handing one off to each of us. 

“Always leave it to Wanderer to keep the inebriation going,” Deacon joked weakly, taking a swig of his.

“Yeah, I’m learning that. Girl is like a damn liquor store,” Hancock replied, laughing hoarsely. 

I raised my bottle in a toast. “To the real enemy! The Institute!” They raised their bottles and we clinked and drank deeply in our solidified alliance. The enemy of my enemy, as it were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bethesda never elaborates on why Hancock and Deacon can't stand each other, so as per usual, I made some shit up. Hope you guys like, and the next update should be coming at you shortly. ;)


	6. Fight for Your Right to Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock throws a bunch of parties and joins the Death Bunnies. No, like really, that's about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's so nice writing my two favorite men. Hope you guys enjoy!

“Would the two of ya hurry up? Feel like this job is _never_ gonna end,” Bobbi complained. I was drudging along the tunnels, my stomach turning over unpleasantly every time the smell of shit hit my nose. So basically, constantly.

“That makes two of us,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. I felt some lingering anxiety about what was about to go down, and just prayed it would play out smoothly. Hancock, in a rare, forgiving mood, had had a change of heart the night prior and now wanted to offer Bobbi a chance to walk away. I thought it was idiotic, but he went on some ideological rant about feeling too much like ‘the man’ lately. Whatever _that_ means. Deacon had backed him up, which was much less surprising. He’d been my moral compass the past couple months, and he was always prone to save a life before he took one. So when it came down to two against one, I just accepted it as the new plan. As long as I got paid, it didn’t matter much to me.

But now that we were back down in the tunnels and Bobbi was incessantly complaining, I regretted not pushing for the death sentence. She had some fucking audacity talking shit to the only people willing to help her. She even tried to renegotiate the caps she was paying me at one point, saying the job was taking too damn long to justify the price. I just laughed it off, I wasn’t going to see those caps either way, no skin off my back. This had granted me a suspicious look from her, and I regretted my lack of control. _Stay in character_ , Deacon’s voice chastised in my mind. Annoying me even from miles away. Impressive, that one. 

We finally arrived at the door, and Bobbi’s hand hesitated on the handle.

“Something ain’t feel right here…” she murmured, and stared directly at me as she said it. Shit, did I really botch it this late in the game? _Play it cool…_

“Jesus Bobbi, all that bitching about how slow we’re going, and now you’re the one holding us up? Are we doing this or not?” I demanded, careful not to seem too aggressive about it. Inside, I was panicking. Wouldn’t it be just like Bobbi to fuck up the operation at the last possible moment. She glared at me as she considered things for a long moment, but finally headed inside.

“What the _fuck_?” she breathed, and I pushed her through the door, Mel following behind us.

I realized now why Hancock wanted to buy the extra time. The entire room was decorated in black and red streamers hung from every possible surface, and a large banner hung from one of the railcars within the storeroom. It read, _Happy Death Day, Bobbi!_ The floor was coated with glittery confetti, which upon further inspection turned out to be shredded tinfoil. Hell, there were even a few _balloons_. I sank back against a nearby wall, laughing hysterically. Up on top of the bannered railcar was Hancock, Fahrenheit, and a seemingly random Drifter. He winked at me and I nodded back, grinning. Apparently Deacon couldn’t bare to sit out this much fun.

“Hey there, No-Nose! Sorry about the secrecy, but hell, everyone loves a surprise party!” Hancock shouted, every bit the good host. I glanced around and saw that we were completely surrounded by guards, approaching us slowly from the shadows. Bobbi’s jaw seemed incapable of closing, and my heart swelled in satisfaction. She turned on me with her gun in hand.

“You fucking _bitch_ ,” she seethed, and I shook a finger at her.

“No no no, No-Nose,” I joked, still broken down in laughter. I’d never thought a ghoul capable of blushing, but her entire face was burning red with embarrassment and anger. 

“Hey now, don’t take it personal, Bobbi! Our Vaultie here just knows the right corner to be in. Shame you don’t share that quality,” Hancock said, his voice turning toxic near the end.

“Look Hancock, I didn’t know-” Mel started but Hancock raised a hand. 

“Our friend here told me as much. We’re good, Mel, relax. As long as you ain’t planning on choosing the wrong side…” Mel shook his head vehemently, taking a purposefully large step away from Bobbi. “Good, then we’re just fine. Bobbi, though…” He tsk-ed his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Bobbi here just don’t seem capable of playing by the rules… remembering who’s in _charge_ ,” Hancock drawled, and his tone was far from playful now. I felt an involuntary shiver roll through me. For all his charm, Hancock was capable of just as much intimidation. 

“You’re just a fucking tyrant, Hancock, no more, no less. Your goddamn grandiosity is gonna get you in a spot one day, you just fucking wait,” Bobbi replied, spitting at the ground defiantly. I had to give Bobbi props, she sure as shit wasn’t cowering. Maybe she had a little more mobster in here than I gave her credit for. Didn’t matter much now.

Hancock frowned for a moment before continuing. “Eh, maybe,” he allowed with a shrug. “But that don’t change your situation much. Listen here Bobbi, this _tyrant_ is offering you an out. Get the fuck out of here right now, stay away from Goodneighbor, for good, and I’ll let ya leave with your life. If not…” He gestured around to the members of his watch, making a point to land on Fahrenheit. “Well, the banner won’t go to waste, let’s leave it at that.” He smirked down at her, palms open as to offer a truce.

She glared at him unapologetically, but at least seemed to be considering the offer. Finally, her face broke out in a devious grin. “Fine by me, Hancock. I’ll get outta your hair, sure. But you mark my words, you gon’ get what’s coming to you one way or another.” He seemed unphased by her threat, casually gesturing to the exit. She cast me one more withering look before leaving, walking with her head high for a girl who’d just been thoroughly humiliated. 

Deacon clapped slowly and dramatically, and it was infectious. Soon the whole room was roaring in appreciation of the display. Hancock bowed, removing his hat and extending it towards us. I shook my head in disbelief of his antics, but joined the applause myself, relieved that it was finally fucking over. Eventually they climbed down from the railcar, and Deacon approached me, throwing an arm over my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“Look at my little spy, all grown up!” he praised, ruffling my hair. I shoved him off good-heartedly, walking up to Hancock and extending my hand. He pushed it away before giving me a short but strong hug, patting my back.

“You did good, Vaultie. Down for a little after party at the Statehouse?” he asked. I groaned, shaking my head.

“Fuck no, I feel like one of those railcars ran over my goddamn head,” I whined. He grinned, pulling out a tin of Mentats.

“Think I got a solution for ya, sister,” he offered. I glanced at Deacon, who was giving me a look of heavy disapproval.

“Appreciate it, but big brother’s back in town,” I mumbled, casting my eyes over at Deacon. Hancock grinned knowingly, shrugging before popping a couple himself.

“Whatever suits ya,” he replied dismissively, grabbing my hand. “But you know what they say about hair of the dog…” I sighed, sensing I wasn't getting out of this.

“Ugh, fine, but only a couple drinks and then I’m going to bed!” He grinned, nodding at me.

“Of course, sister, just a couple…”

It was not _just a couple_.

The moment we entered the Statehouse, we were swamped with cheerful drunks, roaring their approval. Word travelled fast, and I was certain Hancock’s theatrics back in the storeroom had a purpose. You make sure it’s good enough of a story, and you guarantee the word gets to everyone. And the word was pretty clear: “No one pulls one over on Hancock.” As I cycled through the guests, I heard various opinions murmured. Some thought that Bobbi deserved much worse, others praised her exile as an appropriate punishment. Regardless, no one went as far as to actually _question_ the Mayor’s authority so much as marvel over his reasoning. It was fascinating the way that they toed the line, but all seemed to know exactly where it was drawn. 

“You having a good time?” Hancock asked me later in the night, swaying a bit. He put a hand on my shoulder, but it seemed to be more for stabilization than a gesture of endearment. Even so, it was charming. Bastard just oozed charm.

“Hard not to. Feel like the whole damn town is here,” I replied. He nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, no one throws a party like my drifters,” he said, and his voice was heavy with adoration. “Hell of a going away party, I couldn’t have asked for better.” 

“What’re you talking about?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Come on upstairs to my room, got something I want to talk to you about,” he replied, gesturing upstairs. I cocked a suspicious eyebrow and he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, I keep telling ya, I ain’t trying to lay ya! Trust me, you’ll know when I am,” he assured me, winking. I smirked but nodded at him in resignation.

“Alright, alright, lead the way,” I relented. We tromped up the stairs, carefully stepping over many unconscious Drifters littered across the way. Deacon spotted us heading upstairs, and I shook my head at him while Hancock nodded his. I glanced at him, confused. “It involves him too, invite him along,” he explained shortly. I had more questions than ever, but I refrained for now.

When we all entered his room, he shooed everyone out before closing and locking the door behind us. He let out a relieved sigh.

“As much as I love the chaos, sometimes it’s nice to step outside of it for a bit,” he commented, a tranquil smile on his face. I sat down on the couch, draping my legs over the coffee table and crossing my arms across my chest. 

“So what’s this about you leaving?” I asked, all business. He chuckled to himself, pulling a cannister of Jet out of his jacket and taking a deep hit of it. I lit a cigarette in the interim, and noticed Deacon doing the same. Our individual vices satisfied, Hancock began.

“Bobbi wasn’t entirely wrong, ya know? That tyrant comment rubbed me the wrong way,” Hancock began, sighing heavily. “A scheme I would’a been proud to be a part of back in the day, now I’m the guy breaking it apart.”

“You started to talk about this last night,” Deacon reminded him, and Hancock nodded absently.

“Yeah, been thinking about it for a while now. Think the power’s going to my head. No one in power should get too comfortable that way, ya know?” I nodded understandingly. I’d seen enough political and law enforcement corruption in my day to know exactly what he was talking about. 

“So that’s why I’m hitting the road. And I’m hoping y’all wouldn’t be opposed to me tagging along with you. Be nice having some good fighters watching my back,” he finished, leaning against the door. His stance was casual, but I could read him well enough at this point to know it was a farce for an underlying anxiety. I glanced to Deacon, who was frustratingly harder to read, even after all this time. 

“Well…” I started. “You _did_ almost attack Deacon just last night. I think he needs to weigh in on this before I even think about it.”

“Fine by me, boss,” Deacon said immediately, shrugging. 

“Oooookay then… in that case, I guess I’ve got a couple misgivings,” I mused, my analytical side taking over. “Me and you, we fight bloody, but when me and Deacon roll together, he prefers a more… subtle approach. Lot of stealth work,” I explained, trying to gauge his reaction. Deacon snorted.

“I think Hancock would be a useful addition,” Deacon replied, unconcerned. I rose an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. He sighed and laughed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on, Wanderer, can you imagine a better distraction!” I snorted, nodding in agreement.

“Alright, you’ve got me there. Speaking of my code name, I’m pretty sure you know what me and Deacon do in our free time...” I alluded, waiting for Hancock to fill in the blanks. He nodded.

“I’m aware that you’re… conductors on a certain Railroad,” he admitted. 

“Right, well, we work a lot of sensitive missions. Missions that require a lot of discretion from all parties involved,” I hinted, with a taint of threat behind it. 

“I vouch for Hancock, and I will to Dez if it ever comes to it. Besides, doesn’t hurt to have the Mayor of Goodneighbor as an ally,” Deacon commented, completely blase about it. My irritation with him peaked.

“Why am I more worried about this than you? You of all people! And he almost beat your ass last night!” I exclaimed in frustration. Deacon grinned.

“Well for one, we’ll never know who _actually_ would have lost that fight. But yeah, I think it could be a good arrangement. Hell, I was thinking about asking him myself,” Deacon admitted, to both me and Hancock’s surprise. We both blurted out, “What?!” He grinned, enjoying our disbelief. “Like I said, the Railroad could use friends in high places. And I’ve known Hancock for a while, so I _think_ he can be trusted. Then again, who really knows?” I rolled my eyes and waved my hand at him, indicating that he should move on. I didn’t need another ‘can’t trust everyone’ lecture right now. I still wasn’t over that damn recall code incident. “Alright, alright, but I do know he’s all about the little guy, synths included.” He shrugged. “It makes sense, Wanderer.”

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. It _did_ make sense, I wasn’t denying that. If I was being honest, my main problem with the situation was rocking the boat of me and Deacon’s partnership. I wasn’t good with people over long periods of time, and Deacon was the only companion I’d found to this point that didn’t annoy the everlasting fuck out of me after a couple of days. And even then, he had his moments. Adding another person to that equation seemed risky, but I had to admit we had a lot on our plates recently. If I was being _completely_ honest, me fucking around in Goodneighbor the past couple days wasn’t exactly responsible on my part. I’d just been so stressed out from our workload that I had to get the hell away for a couple days, which Deacon had been more than understanding about. _Been there, done that_ , he’d said. Having another person helping us out would probably lighten a lot of the burden that we’d been carrying for months now. 

“...Okay,” I relented, and Hancock breathed a sigh of relief. He grinned widely, reaching out to shake my hand. I returned the shake firmly, staring him in the eye. “But on a probational basis! If this doesn’t work out, no hard feelings, okay?” I inquired. He nodded in understanding, and I let myself relax a little bit. As long as we all had boundaries, things would be fine. Right?

Ehhh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some feedback/love. Thanks to everyone who's been following the story. You guys are amazing. <3


	7. Emotional Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Wanderer has a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one. Hope you guys enjoy.

“You mean you _still_ haven’t looked into that damn augmenter?” Deacon asked incredulously, shaking his head. “ _Oh Deacon, I’m not just going to Goodneighbor to party, I’m going to get the brain checked out too!_ You’re a terrible liar, for the record,” he deadpanned.

“I _meant_ to, I just got distracted,” I mumbled, glancing at Hancock. He grinned at me and winked. “Besides, Nick hasn’t even gotten here yet. He was working on a missing person case in Diamond City, said he would make his way out here as soon as he finished up,” I replied defensively. 

“He seriously isn’t here yet?” Deacon asked. I shook my head. “Hope he’s okay, that pile of bolts is growing on me.” I nodded, biting my lip.

“What are you and Nick looking into, anyway?” Hancock asked. I shared an apprehensive look with Deacon. We were getting well-versed in the art of silent communication. _Might as well just tell him_ , he seemed to say. My look was expressing something more along the lines of, _Absolutely fucking not_. Deacon rose an eyebrow, challenging me. _How are we_ not _going to tell him?_ I groaned, throwing my hands up in defeat.

“Some cyber chip brain thing of Kellogg’s. I don’t really know, might be the key to getting into the Institute, or something…” I replied casually, darting my eyes around the room. I could feel Hancock’s eyes burning a hole through me, but this wasn’t a topic I was exactly thrilled about discussing.

“Well that’s some heavy shit, sister,” he replied, but thankfully didn’t nail with me a thousand follow up questions. I finally met his eyes, casting him a grateful look. 

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. “But we can’t really move forward without Nick. Important as it may be, he’s taken the lead on this case, and I promised I’d wait to talk to Amari about it until he got here.” Hancock snorted, realization dawning on his face.

“So _that’s_ why you never gave her more shit about drugging you,” he expressed, smirking. “Knew there was something more behind that.”

“I’m not letting it go!” I exclaimed angrily, frowning at him. “I’m just waiting for the opportune moment to bring it up,” I finished lamely.

“Right. The ‘opportune moment’ being after she helps you with the augmenter, got it,” Hancock teased. I glared harshly at him but didn’t respond. He wasn’t technically wrong. Deacon cleared his throat loudly.

“Someone wanna catch me up, here?” he asked, glancing between the two of us.

“Broke my ribs. Well, twice,” I began. He immediately interrupted.

“Seriously? _Again_?” Deacon asked, his tone a mixture of amazement and exasperation. “If you’d just take a couple days to let the damn things heal, you wouldn’t be crippled every other battle. I mean seriously, I can only carry you so far before I throw my back out, and then we’re gonna have a _serious_ problem.”

“Oh, don’t worry, by the second time around, Amari made sure she had plenty of time to heal, didn’t she, Vaultie?” Hancock laughed, enjoying my disgruntled state.

“Amari shot me up with a quote-unquote ‘Stimpak’ that knocked me out cold for a couple of days,” I hissed, pouting. Deacon burst out laughing, nodding his approval.

“Good, I’m tired of carrying you everywhere! Besides, I don’t think you riding around in a wheelchair is going to help us much in combat. Though come to think of it, Tinker Tom could probably deck it out with some killer hydraulics,” he mused. I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, laugh it up, unauthorized administration of medication, real funny,” I growled, sulking further into the couch. Hancock and Deacon shared an eye roll at my expense, but let the subject go.

“Well, I suppose that leaves us waiting on Nick. I’d give him a couple more days before sending out a search party, he’s probably just trying to tie up loose ends in the shining jewel before he takes a sabbatical. Plenty of lost kittens to save, wandering husbands to expose, the usual,” Deacon comforted me. While I appreciated his effort to reassure me, it didn’t appease my worry like I wanted it to.

“Just doesn’t seem like him, he was prioritizing this case…” I wondered, sighing. “We’ll give it two more days, but then we’re looking for him.” 

It didn’t take two days. Later that afternoon, the entrance to the Statehouse opened, and I heard a very familiar voice negotiating his way past the guards.

“Look, I got a friend upstairs that I need to chat with. I’m sure if you go ask Hancock, he’ll be more than happy to let me in,” Nick assured the watch. I burst down the stairs, firing across the hall and embracing Nick tightly.

“I thought something happened to you!” I exclaimed, beaming at him once I was willing to let him go. Hancock and Deacon didn’t tramp down the stairs quite as enthusiastically as I had, but soon enough we were all congregated in the foyer.

“You think I’d miss out on this adventure? Not a chance, darling. Just got caught in some messy business when I was trying to make my exit, I’ll explain it all later,” he promised, patting my shoulder. “Now, you still have the augmenter?” I nodded. “Good, good. Let’s take it on down to Amari and see what we can uncover about this Kellogg fellow, we’ve wasted enough time.” 

“Amen to that! Good thing I’m a synth or I swear I’d be an old man by now!” Deacon exclaimed. The room just stared at him, and the Neighborhood Watch shifted uncomfortably, their fingers twitching towards their weapons. “What, something I say?” 

“Ugh, let’s go,” I groaned, grabbing Deacon’s arm and leading him outside before he got us all shot. 

“Jesus Deacon, my men are going to think I’m fraternizing with the enemy,” Hancock complained, shaking his head. 

“Synths aren’t the enemy, the Institute is,” Deacon reminded him pleasantly, unbothered by his distress.

“Yeah, well a lot of people have trouble making the distinction,” Hancock replied, thoroughly annoyed. “I’m already skipping out on ‘em, last thing I need is rumors about my loyalties floating around in my absence.”

“Yeah, yeah, no more Synth jokes within city limits, got it,” Deacon replied, sounding a lot like a little kid who’d been told he couldn’t have any cake before dinner. “But seriously guys! This flesh and blood is Institute property, honest!”

“Deacon, shut the fuck up.”

~

I flew out the door of the Memory Den, holding my midsection tightly. I felt hot acid burning within it, sending sharp, stabbing pains throughout my stomach. My heart was throbbing, pounding against my chest like a Deathclaw confined in a cage. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate, my lungs starved for air despite inhaling it in uncontrollable excess. My entire body felt like it was being violently shaken, and I realized I hadn’t shivered this aggressively since I’d stepped out of that damn ice chamber. That fucking Vault. _Nate…_

I vomited onto the pavement. 

“Wan...Nora?” Deacon said softly, stepping outside carefully. I still couldn’t breath, not that I had a damn thing to say to him. To anyone. My body lit up as if a switch had been flipped, and the only thing I was capable of in the moment was running. I steadied myself to my feet and bolted, no destination in mind. I heard concerned voices calling after me, but I couldn’t stand to look at any of them, offer any explanation. I just needed to get the _fuck_ out of there.

The extraneous exercise helped regulate my breathing, and by the time I’d stormed out the doors of Goodneighbor, my lungs were in a healthier rhythm, supplying my body with the oxygen I needed to keep going. And god, I needed to keep going so fucking badly. I felt like I couldn’t stop, like it wasn’t an option anymore, like if I stopped, everything I’d been chasing would instead be chasing me, and it would win. I ran and ran and ran, and I didn’t stop until my legs couldn’t physically handle my weight anymore. It ended with me collapsed on the ground, violently screaming with everything I had in me. I screeched, and then I shouted, and then I wailed, and eventually my vocal chords were capable of nothing more than hoarse rasps. Even then, I persisted, slumping to the ground and curling my knees to my chest. I heard gunshots nearby, but I coudn’t bring myself to give a fuck. I was utterly incapable of giving a fuck about a single damn thing aside from the overwhelming _pain_ racking itself through my body in crushing waves. It just wouldn’t fucking _stop_.

Eventually the gunfire died out, and even though I knew I was lucky to be alive, lucky that my explosive shrieking hadn’t attracted hostiles, I didn’t feel lucky. Nate was the lucky one, frozen solid in his metallic tomb while I was alive and struggling on without him, trying to find our son against all odds, living every day without his laugh, his comfort, nothing but his goddamn fucking memory. It should have been _me_ , and that wasn’t some on-the-spot revelation. That was a truth I carried with my every godforsaken day in this wasteland, and I was so fucking _tired_. So… tired...

I woke up in the dark, extremely disoriented. My grogginess was almost immediately replaced by panic when I couldn’t figure out where the hell I was. I shot up, my heart racing as I tried to get a grip on what was going on. A red coat was draped over me, a very familiar red coat…

_What the fuck…_

I got out of bed slowly, pulling my gun out of its holster. My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and moonlight was shining through cracks in a wooden roof over my head. It appeared to be some kind of shoddy shelter, barely more than a shack in size. I’d past many abandoned ones just like it in my time on the road, but I sure as hell didn’t remember making my way here. The door was closed and I approached it slowly and silently, willing myself to calm the hell down. A brain fogged in fear was sure to get itself killed sooner or later. 

Once I had willed myself back into control, I shoved the door open aggressively, quickly springing out and evaluating my surroundings. Hancock was sitting in a worn-down metal chair, his feet propped on a tree stump. He nearly fell out of the chair at my entrance, jumping up in surprise.

“Jesus, I didn’t hear you wake up,” he exclaimed breathily, trying to regain his composure. Once again, he was staring down the barrel of my gun, and I lowered it with hesitation, my eyes burning into his own.

“How the hell did I get here?” I demanded. 

“Well you passed out in the damn street, nearby a Raider nest, no less. I cleared them out, with some help from our mutual friends, and then I carried you here. Starting to understand Deacon’s fear of throwing his back out,” Hancock joked half-heartedly, smiling hesitantly at me. I refused to return it, still grimacing. “Anyway, once you were safe and sound in bed, I convinced them to head back to Goodneighbor for some rest. Figured you wouldn’t want a full-blown audience when you finally woke up. Been keeping watch ever since they left,” he finished, looking nervous as hell. 

“You guys followed me?” I asked, seething. That meant they saw my… episode. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, nodding.

“We didn’t… we left you as alone as we could. But you weren’t in your right mind, sister. Couldn’t let you get yourself killed either,” he explained, taking off his hat and fidgeting with the corners. It was the second occurrence of this, and I mentally noted it as a nervous tick of his. I sighed, running my fingers through my knotted hair. 

“Okay… yeah… I get it,” I relented, refusing to meet his gaze. “Why… I don’t mean to sound like a total bitch, but why you? Why not Deacon, or even Nick?” I asked, more rudely than was warranted. Hancock smirked a bit, as if he was enjoying some private joke I wasn’t privy to.

“I happen to have an… illustrious history of running away from things. We all talked it over, figured I’d be best suited to handle the situation once you finally woke up,” he explained, shrugging in an attempt to keep things casual. “That being said, we don’t have to talk about it. Hell, we don’t have to talk at all. Just consider me your personal bodyguard for the time being.” I snorted, rolling my eyes.

“Think I’ve proven myself capable of self-preservation,” I replied coldly. 

“Yeah, well up until you passed out in the street, I would have agreed,” he retorted. Annoyingly fair.

“Whatever,” I replied, considering my options. There was an inadvertent benefit to Hancock being the one who’d stayed…

“You got anything?” I implored quietly, borderline ashamed of craving a chemical crutch. But jesus, did I ever. He grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

“You ain’t gotta ask twice,” he assured me. He walked inside and retrieved his coat, pulling several party favors out of an assortment of pockets inside the jacket. He scooted the chair back so that I could sit down on the tree stump before littering my options at my feet, ripe for the picking. I chose a vial of Med-X, injecting it carefully before popping a few Mentats for good measure. The Med-x high was nearly instantaneous, and the Mentats’ effect was subtle as it grew, meshing together wonderfully with its predecessor. We sat there quietly, time lost on us as we chased our individual highs. 

“I watched him murder my husband. I heard his thoughts as he did it. Felt his hand on the gun, the trigger…” I whispered, my eyes popping open at the confession. I was _not_ a sharer, and anxiety sharply pierced through my high, tensing my entire body defensively. I stared at Hancock like a deer caught in oncoming headlights, terrified of how he would react. He didn’t break eye contact, but I didn’t find the sympathy in his expression that I’d come to expect from people. I was extremely grateful for this, as sympathy seemed to be the only thing reaction anyone seemed capable of once they knew. It was as useless as it was demeaning. I hated being the woman that everyone pitied, it went against everything I was as a person. 

Hancock seemed to be thinking through his response, evaluating me with an air of respect. He finally broke the silence.

“I’d say that was a pretty appropriate reaction to going through that kind of shit,” he replied, still maintaining eye contact. It established respect in some strange way. As if it was an assertion that we were still equals, that this incident hadn’t shifted our dynamic into the territory of someone feeling sorry for the other. That just happened to be my biggest reason for refusing to let people in-- once they knew, they never looked at me the same. Deacon might be the exception to this, but even so, I kept the emotional shit to a minimum with him. He seemed to understand better than anyone that it was almost always better that way.

And yet, here I was, opening up to a practical stranger. And here that stranger was, handling it better than anyone else had to date. 

“Suppose so,” I replied nonchalantly, and he didn’t push me any further. I realized I was almost disappointed by this, which of course forced me into the realization that I _wanted_ to talk about it. I wanted to blame the Mentats, but the truth was I’d been waiting for the right ear for a long ass time. 

So I did. I told him fucking everything. I told him about my life before the war, my career. I talked about my marriage to Nate, and I didn’t embellish or omit. I laid it out more honestly than I had with anyone else to this point, including the fights, the war-induced distance between us, every challenge we faced, with an unfading emphasis on the unbreakable love we shared in spite of it. We were explosive as partners, and it felt so good retelling it, like I was finally finding comfort in his memory instead of the unrelenting misery I’d been wallowing in for months. I talked about Shaun, the disconnect I felt for months after his birth, and the bond we had started to build the last few months we’d been together, a relationship finally budding where I’d feared it never would. I recounted the day the bombs dropped, described myself watching as the baby I finally loved was taken away from me, perhaps forever. I admitted how I had violently slaughtered Kellogg, how he’d been nothing more than blood and bones when I finally managed to stop. I expressed my relief that it was Deacon who had been with me, and how he inexplicably seemed to understand my homicidal fury when anyone else in his position would have been repulsed. Hell, I even got sentimental about how much I valued him as a friend, which was absolutely unprecedented to this point. Finally, I ran out of words, and I let out a long, heavy sigh, feeling emotionally drained. 

“Goddamn,” Hancock said simply, when he was sure I was finished. I let out a hoarse laugh, my voice still heavily strained from my screaming fit the day before.

“Goddamn,” I agreed, nodding tiredly. He rested a hand on my knee, squeezing it tightly. 

“We’re going to find them. We’re going to find Shaun. And they are going to fucking _pay_ ,” he hissed, poison dripping from his words. I looked up at him, and his eyes were burning with unadulterated hatred. I believed him. I trusted him, my usual caution be damned.

I nodded in affirmation, unable to offer more of a response than that. It had taken everything I had, reliving my story, and the words that had been flowing before were impossible to find now. Dawn had broken, and my body and mind needed rest that I hadn’t actively sought out since escaping from the vault. I yawned, and if I’d been even a decibel louder when I did, I would have missed the miniscule crackle of leaves crunching beneath a boot. Weight shifting, under the cover of an external sound. Fucking Deacon.

“You can come out now, asshole,” I announced, and a load groan followed.

“Ugh, I _knew_ I should just hold position. But I tell ya, a guy gets real uncomfortable, crouched down that long. I thought you’d _never_ stop talking, I’m not used to you being so indulgent,” he teased, stepping out from behind nearby foliage. He wore dark green, and had smeared mud all over his skin and clothes to blend in with his environment. My goofy little Chameleon, I thought with annoying endearment. Hancock glared at him in reproach, but I laughed it off. This was the game we played. We danced around our individual mental landmines, keeping things light even when someone slipped up and set one off.

“Should have known you wouldn’t just go back to Goodneighbor,” I complained, rolling my eyes at him. He grinned, shrugging at me.

“Can’t let the Trainwreck of the Railroad outta my sight for too long. Hey, see what I did there? Railroad? _Train_ wreck? Come on, that was pretty good,” he joked, and I finally allowed myself to crack up, nodding in appreciation of his humor. 

“You were thinking that one up the entire time, weren’t you?” I replied knowingly, and he didn’t deny it, just smirked at me and plopped down on the ground beside us.

“So we all good now? You back to your usual level of crazy? ‘Cause that was a hell of a breakdown, even by your standards,” Deacon drawled, with a poorly concealed tone of worry to his voice. 

“Yup, homeostasis achieved,” I assured him, forcing a broad smile as if to prove it. He grimaced, shaking his hands in front of his face.

“Oh god, that smile’s some _terrible_ acting on your part. I’m going to pretend you never did that, I don’t want to taint my image of you,” he laughed, dramatically refusing to look at me. I rolled my eyes, this time genuinely smiling. He glanced over and returned my grin, nodding. “That’s better,” he encouraged. “You two head inside and get some sleep, I’ll take first watch.” Hancock tried to protest, but Deacon wasn’t having it. “You’ve been up 20 hours, Raisin, you need your beauty sleep.”

“Raisin?” Hancock snorted. “That’s a new one.”

“Like Wanderer said, I had a lot of time on my hands. Now both of you, off to bed!” he scolded, a mock sense of authority in his posture as he pointed inside the shack. I rolled my eyes at him before heading inside, Hancock trailing behind me. He closed the door, eyeing the singular mattress in the small space.

“Uhhh…” he started, unsure of how to approach the situation. I laughed, shaking my head.

“Seriously? We go through all that, and you’re weirded out sharing a bed?” I chuckled in amusement. “If we’re gonna be on the road together, it’s inevitable. No awkwardness on this side,” I assured him, flopping down on the bed. 

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you were okay with it,” he replied, holding his hands up. “You want my jacket again?” I shook my head, digging through my bag and pulling out a thin, weathered blanket. He eyed it with doubt but said nothing, joining me on the mattress and turning on his side away from me. I found sleep nearly effortlessly, and my mind was thankfully too exhausted for nightmares. There was nothing but blank, comfortable darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was angsty, which is not exactly my forte. Criticism is as welcome as praise, and I appreciate all the comments and kudos!


	8. Everything Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group makes progress towards crossing the Glowing Sea, and Hancock and Nora find a rare commodity stashed away at the Red Rocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're FINALLY making moves towards romance. Slow, agonizing moves. Thanks for all the comments and kudos, everyone! I'M TRYING MY BEST TO MOVE THINGS ALONG, BUT NORA IS NOT COOPERATIVE!

I woke up sweating, my body overheated and uncomfortable. I let out an exhausted moan, shoving my blanket off of me. With it fell a red coat too, one I had apparently stolen from its owner in the night. Typical. I readjusted my weight onto my side, too groggy to do much else, and fell back into my slumber. 

When I woke up again, I was pleasantly warm, my body curved against a long, slender form. My thigh was draped over them, and I hummed pleasantly, nuzzling my head into their chest. Their skin was gnarled, inconsistent, soft but disfigured. I froze, my entire body tensing up. Definitely _not_ Nate. 

I clamored upright, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. As reality had a habit of doing, I was once again jerked back to the dilapidated Commonwealth I was now a citizen of, the knowledge of the War and the Bomb and the Chaos infiltrating my mind. This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up subconsciously between worlds, and unfortunately I knew it wouldn’t be the last. This _was_ the first time, however, that I’d woken tangled up in a certain ghoul. A ghoul who was now laughing his ass off at me.

“Knew it was too good to last,” he chuckled, yawning as he stretched out his limbs. I glared at him, my cheeks flushed.

“You should have woken me up!” I snarled, shoving him. He shrugged, continuing to chortle to himself.

“I was sleepy, it was comfortable,” he excused with little concern, grabbing his hat from the floor and plopping it on his head. He adjusted it slightly, the corner perfectly angled to the line of dissymmetry down his face. He grinned at me sheepishly, and I rolled my eyes. “Besides, as I remember, _you_ were the one who rolled onto me, and after stealing my jacket, no less.” There was little I could say to refute this, so I just waved a hand at him dismissively, collecting my various possessions from around the shack. Once I’d packed everything into my bag, I zipped it shut harder than needed, and the zipper caught on clothes too tightly condensed to begin with. I growled in frustration, throwing the bag to the floor. Hancock picked it up, shaking his head in amusement before readjusting its contents and freeing the zipper’s catch. He got it successfully zipped with ease before handing it back it to me, smiling almost apologetically. I huffed and snatched it out of his hand, exiting the shack without another word.

“Aw, the lovebirds finally leave the nest,” Deacon laughed, and I shot him a murderous look. He just grinned, continuing his jibes. “I came in for some water earlier, but you guys seemed nice and cozy, didn’t want to interrupt.” I pulled a bottle of purified water out of a side pocket of my bag, chucking it sharply at his head.

“There’s your water, can you shut the fuck up now?” I hissed, glowering at him before checking that Hancock had included himself in my threat as well. They both opted for silence for now, though Deacon’s was more a result of him drinking the water than actual submission. Good enough for me. 

“We have a lot of shit to get done, and we’ve wasted enough time,” I reminded them, thoroughly irritated.

“ _You’ve_ wasted enough time,” Deacon mumbled, and I sprang at him, fully intending to leave him a black eye in my wake. Hancock grabbed the back of my shirt, yanking me backwards before I could do any real damage. Deacon seemed completely unphased, smiling innocently at me.

“Deacon, lay off her. Vaultie, you need to calm the hell down. Can’t really talk to us about getting shit done when you’re throwing a fit in the middle of the ‘Wealth,” he chastised, raising a critical eyebrow at me. I huffed at him in frustration before shrugging off the hand still clutching the back of my shirt. I eventually gave a short nod, though not before glaring at Deacon. He was immensely enjoying the scene he’d caused. 

“Glowing Sea. Options. Go.” And just like that, we were all business. We sat in a circle, Deacon on the ground while me and Hancock reclaimed our respective seats from the night before. 

“Rad-X,” Deacon offered, and I shook my head.

“Too expensive, and exhaustive of what supplies we do have. Same goes for Radaway.”

“Hazmat suit,” Hancock suggested, and I once again shook my head.

“Too bulky to fit armor on top, we’d be too exposed to damage from hostiles.”

“Power armor,” Deacon said with finality, and I glared at him. Silent conversation began.

_We only have one!_

_No shit. Only one of us needs to go._

_I’m not going without you!_

_The other option being…?_

I sighed, throwing my hands in the air. “Fine!” I exclaimed, getting to my feet abruptly. Hancock was staring between the two of us, trying to fill in the pieces. “I’ll go by myself, fuck it all, just me and the goddamn _Glowing Sea_! Maybe I’ll come home with a pet Deathclaw, or join the Children of Atom!” Of all the fucking places to wander into without backup. He had to be joking.

Deacon grinned, shaking his head. “You won’t be alone,” he commented, giving a pointed look to Hancock, who was finally starting to put things together. He grinned, sliding the palms of his hands together in anticipation. 

“That’s a damn good plan,” he said appreciatively, and Deacon shrugged in mock modesty.

“I do what I can,” he replied cockily, grinning at Hancock.

“What the hell are we talking about!” I yelled, stomping my foot in anger. Deacon burst out laughing at this, and once again my cheeks were flooding in embarrassment. Definitely needed to get that reaction under control, no one takes a foot-stomping child seriously. Hancock was clearly holding back laughter, but he controlled it better than his counterpart. Once the contained smirk faded from his face, he finally explained.

“I’m a ghoul. We _thrive_ in radiation.” I paused to consider this. It made sense, but it wasn’t something I’d given a lot of thought to. If that were the case, then this plan really was our best option. Still, I would have felt a hell of a lot better with Deacon at my back than Hancock. Our talk the previous night aside, I’d _still_ only just met the guy. I’d learned my lesson about trusting too early or too fully long ago, and I wasn’t eager to repeat the mistake. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying desperately to think of an alternative plan. The only other option was to try and find another power armor suit for Deacon, and with my ties to the Brotherhood thoroughly ravaged, there weren’t a lot of obvious ways to go about that. Finally, I nodded in resignation.

“Glad you finally caught up, boss,” Deacon sarcastically praised, getting to his feet. “If I could contribute something to a plan otherwise devoid of my prowess, I think you should let Tinker Tom make a couple adjustments to your power armor. For one, walking around in Brotherhood paraphernalia is a death sentence if they realize it’s you, and two, I doubt your modifications are… awe-inspiring,” he teased. I swear to _god_ , Deacon had a death wish.

“They are not that bad!”

They really were that bad. 

We finally arrived at Sanctuary around dusk, after briefly dropping by Goodneighbor to assure Nick that I was, in fact, alive. He had seemed… off, but I figured that he was still reeling from our experience in the Memory Den. God knows I was.

Preston immediately ran over to me, his eyes lighting up in surprise. “Nora!” he exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. “Does this mean you’ve reconsidered-”

“No, Preston. Just visiting my house. You know, the one you guys are _rebuilding civilization_ around?” I replied darkly, glaring up the road at it. It looked exactly the same as the last visit, untouched while the rest of the neighborhood continued to grow and thrive. I didn’t want them touching my house, didn’t want a single thing inside of it disturbed unless it was by my own hands, but sometimes I wished I had the audacity to just burn the damn thing down. Maybe at least hand it over to the Minutemen, let them find some use in what was nothing but a poorly preserved time capsule for me now. Alas, I just wasn’t at that point yet. Doubtful I’d ever be.

“Ah, right, well... you’re always welcome here! I heard about some of the settlements you helped! See, even without taking up the post of General, you’re taking the initiative to help the common people! Quality of a true leader, you know,” he started, and I lifted my hand and smacked it directly on his mouth, mumbling the rest of what I was sure was a rehearsed speech.

“Answer is still no, Preston. I need some alone time,” I said dryly, refusing to take my eyes off my old house. He glanced at my companions, nodding in welcome.

“Alright Ge… Nora. I’ll let the other settlers know to leave you and your party alone for now. But you’ve got to come see everyone once you’ve settled in. I know it’s hard for you coming back here, but we all worry…” Just what I needed. “Just make a round when you’re up to it, okay?” he asked, almost pleading. I sighed and nodded, eager for him to take his leave. He meant well, but jesus, was he aggravating. He grinned, his eyes glowing with adoration. “Thank you, I’ll leave you to it.” He walked away with what could only be described as a pep to his step, and I shuddered to think that he probably thought he’d made progress towards me accepting their leadership. Me, a leader. I snorted to myself, earning a bemused look from Hancock. I didn’t bother to explain, simply led the way down the street to my old home.

My mailbox was overflowing with correspondence, and I was quite certain that the majority of it was from Preston, keeping me up to date on the inner-workings of the Minutemen: settlements still in need, progress they’d made, trade routes, etc, etc. It wasn’t that I didn’t hold interest in helping the Commonwealth-- quite the opposite, in fact. The reality was that in spite of my interest, I had a larger goal. One that I wouldn’t let anything, or anyone, distract me from... Except myself, on unfortunate occasions...

I cracked the door to my former home open minimally, waiting for any internal sounds to give indication of another presence. Everyone knew that this house was to remain untouched, but you never knew…

Silence greeted me, and after a couple long moments, I forced myself to go inside.

Everything was the same, but everything was different. Untouched from my last visit, but so warped from the home I truly remembered. I let out a heavy sigh, forcing myself down the hall to my bedroom. There, my power armor stood, gleaming in the last hues of orange-colored sunlight streaming in from the window. And beside it, the elephant in a room far too small for elephants, was the frame of our bed. _Our_. Me and Nate. That pronoun hurt. This whole goddamn house hurt.

The mattress had been stolen long before I’d returned, but the frame sat there, withered and worn from years of abandonment. I sighed, trying hard not to look at it but feeling my eyes magnetized to it just the same. Memories of breastfeeding Shaun late into the night, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. Hell, memories of our various attempts to _make_ Shaun, although I remained convinced that the park had been the final point of conception. My throat choked, and I swallowed the lump in defiance, a new determination settling over me. Not again. Not today.

“Welp, here it is,” I stated, spanning my arms as if I was a salesman trying to pitch an overpriced car to a dubious customer. “All several hundreds pounds of unapologetic, patriotic glory. If you’ll look here, you’ll see the pristine attention to detail spanning the various units, the precision behind the arrangement of metallic limbs and fixtures.” Deacon snorted, shaking his head.

“You really have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?” he asked. I sighed and shook my head, patting the suit with endearment.

“Nope, not a clue. Everything I’ve done to it has been… less than constructive, to say the least,” I admitted finally, now that my anger towards him had passed. He circled the suit in concentration, occasionally bending closer to examine various components. 

“Promise me something, Wanderer?” he asked, finally meeting my eyes.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t _ever_ modify power armor again,” he demanded.

I grinned. “Done.” 

Deacon resigned himself to spending the night dealing with the armor’s nefarious paintjob, as none of us wanted to attract _that_ kind of attention during our trip back to HQ. He was a bit too enthusiastic about the task, and though I knew Deacon’s enthusiasm usually had a cost, I was too exhausted to care. I floated around the settlement for a bit, making my obligatory rounds to the people who inexplicably cared for my health and well-being. Some of them were from Preston’s original party, the one I’d saved from the museum a lifetime ago. Others were new, and simply wanted to meet the person they seemed to believe solely responsible for their constant supply of food, clothes, and ammunition. Preston had been spinning some serious propaganda. He never gave up, that one.

I set the story straight where I could, gave up when others called my efforts ‘being too modest’, and finally made my exit from town. Deacon was going to rendezvous with us at the Red Rocket when he was finished with the suit, and Sturgess had joined his work, ensuring that that would be _hours_ from now. I was slouching with exhaustion, both physical and emotional, but Hancock seemed positively chipper. He’d stayed cooped up in my old home while I’d dealt with the settlers, reminding me that most people didn’t get the warm and fuzzies at the sight of a ghoul. I’d tried to reassure him, but he insisted it would make things easier, and I eventually relented. He’d promised to stay in the living room, away from the epicenter of emotional attachment I held to the home, and that was good enough for me. As I gazed at him now, the sheen to his eyes gave me theories about what he’d been keeping himself busy while I was away. He caught me staring and grinned, throwing an arm over my shoulder. 

“See something you like?” he asked, his voice raspy yet smooth. I snorted, shaking my head at his infallible confidence.

“Was just wondering what you occupied yourself with in my absence,” I hinted. He turned his head towards the side of my face, his lips lingering by my ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased, his breath hot on my neck from our closeness. I shrugged off his hand, recreating my bubble of space. I was somewhat disturbed that he’d encroached himself into it without my realizing, but now that I had, it wasn’t going to continue. My head seemed foggier than before, god knows why, and I shook it back into clarity. 

_Infiltrate Institute, save Shaun, destroy said Institute, enjoy happily ever after._ My mantra, repeated to myself whenever I seemed to be losing focus. I don’t know what it was about this moment that caused me to need the redirection, but I trusted my instincts. Whatever was happening here was not conducive to finding Shaun, and therefore could not be allowed to continue. I refused to analyze what exactly it was that I was running from, but I knew that it was to be avoided at all costs. Distantly, I could hear Hancock chuckling to himself, at me. I realized that I’d been chanting my mantra under my breath instead of safely inside my mind. _Well, at least he already knows I’m batshit..._

We arrived near the Red Rocket, and I was sick with the realization that my whole ‘running away’ plan was completely unrealistic in our present circumstance. I supposed I could just ask him to go back to Sanctuary, there were plenty of guest houses for him to choose from. But the thought of being here all alone, with ghosts lingering so closely up the street, was scarier than his presence and its implications. And _that_ was saying something. I sighed to myself in resignation, walking around back to disable the turrets so that he could follow me inside. I’d already warned him about the field of fragmentation mines and he carefully planned his steps to avoid their wrath, using the glowing light from inside the station to guide his way. 

The Red Rocket station was _mine_ , and Sanctuary seemed aware and respectful of this fact. I’d spent days renovating it, a little more work done each visit back, and was thoroughly pleased with the results. Light bulbs dangled from power lines streamed throughout the house, casting a fluorescent glow over our surroundings. The walls were decorated with various abstract paintings, a deliberate choice on my part. I sure as shit didn’t want a bunch of _landscape_ paintings reminding me what the world used to look like before the bombs. No thank you, I’ll take my ambiguous squiggles any day. 

I’d painted the walls of the living room yellow, hoping to bring some color into an otherwise bleak environment. The shade was atrocious, fucking neon banana, but it had evolved into an acquired taste over time. Ugly or not, it always seemed to promise a refuge, a place to relax and recoup. That was more than enough for me. 

Behind the front counter was a couch, dark gray and beat to shit. In front of it, a faded coffee table, covered with variations of booze, chems, cigarette cartons, and a singular overflowing ashtray. I expected to be embarrassed by the assortment of empty beer bottles littering the floor, but jesus, this was Hancock of all people. He seemed to know all about keeping the ghosts at bay.

I leaned over the table, retrieving the ashtray and dumping it out one of the gaping holes in the wall across the room. I made a mental note to patch them up every time I came home, and always failed to do so before heading back out again. You would think it would have been my top priority when I decided to take up residence here, but being fresh out the vault, there was a lot I hadn’t learned yet. Unfortunately, I knew enough now to know how fucking exposed I was leaving myself. Turrets and mines be damned if your enemy could pick you off without even triggering them. 

But yet again, I’d arrived in a state of exhaustion so thorough, I couldn’t imagine finding the energy to get the damn thing over with. I plopped down on the couch, and felt the shape of my body being conformed to nearly instantly. I wasn’t here enough to leave a sizable dent in the cushions, but I could definitely tell that progress towards that goal was being made. I’d spent a lot more time here during my days with the Brotherhood, back when my grief was fresh and my confusion and guilt had been nearly intolerable. There’s another avenue I didn’t want to be going down…

I glanced up suddenly, reminding myself that I had company. By all standards, both pre-and-post-War, I was being a terrible fucking host. I met Hancock’s eyes and he seemed to be studying me, trying to unravel what exactly had dragged me back to Crazytown this time. I forced one of my infamous attempts at a grin, and he shuddered, shaking his head.

“Deacon’s right, you gotta cut that shit out, it’s disturbing,” he commented, chuckling softly. I laughed along with him, grabbing a tin of Mentats off the table and popping a few before extended the rest to him. He indulged without hesitation, smirking at me as he chewed them. 

“Enjoying your hiatus from big brother?” he teased, and I didn’t bother denying it. To be completely fair, Deacon’s disapproval of my drug use wasn’t without merit. My brain was screwy enough without the influence of drugs, but sometimes, you just really needed a fix. Even if the fix had all kinds of unpredictable ramifications on my moods, thought processes, sleeping patterns, yada yada yada... Whatever, it was too late now. 

“Immensely,” I breathed, sighing in contentment as the chems slowly started to do their job. I grabbed a bottle of wine off the floor, retrieving a corkscrew from the table and setting about releasing the cork with finely tuned muscle memory. I didn’t bother peeling off the tinfoil, just used my thumb to depress it away from the mouth of the bottle before taking a swig. I coughed a bit, still a bit disgusted by the vinegar and skunk that every wine seemed to have a _strong_ note of these days. Oaky, with a twist of rot. C’est la fucking Commonwealth.

I passed off the bottle to Hancock, who was slumped down next to me, his feet sprawled out on the table. The vibrant red of his jacket contrasted terribly with the putrid yellow walls, and the hilarity of the sight caused me to begin giggling. He stared at me, cocking an eyebrow but saying nothing. I shook my head as I tried to get my laughter under control, accepting that making a ketchup and mustard joke would be lost on present company.

“Oh man, I’m finally starting to accept that this paint job was ill-advised,” I chortled, finally on the tail end of my amusement. He shook his head, grinning at me.

“You’re outta your mind, sister,” he replied, taking another gulp of the wine before passing the bottle back to me. I shrugged, turning to lay down horizontally with my feet pooled in his lap. Some silence fell upon us, and but it was comfortable. I didn’t feel the need to keep Hancock entertained, or vice versa. It was nice, escaping the social obligation to fill gaps in conversation with small talk. One of his hands rested on my lower calf, the other sprawled out comfortable behind his head. He closed his eyes, smiling in content as his high grew stronger. After a long stretch of peace, he began examining my assortment of chems, sorting them into piles on the table.

“Holy shit sister, have you tried this one?” Hancock asked. I’d been lost in a trance, enjoying the hum of chems beneath my skin. I glanced over at him, curious as to what he’d found. He was holding a bottle of Day Tripper.

“I haven’t, actually. Never wanted to do it alone, seemed like a bad idea,” I replied, gnawing on my bottom lip. He smirked, unscrewing the top.

“Oh, I’ve _gotta_ be there for your first trip, I happen to be an excellent guide,” he crooned, extending the bottle to me. I looked between him and the bottle a couple of times, hesitating.

"I don't know..." I mumbled, caught between temptation and reason. He grinned, leaning towards me.

"Come on, sweetheart. Everything once, right?" he breathed, his tone husky and inviting. He studied me, his countenance reassuring and welcoming. After a long moment of being torn between choices, I sighed heavily and reached in to grab a dose. It was a small square of paper, decorated with some colorful, nonsensical pattern. Hancock beamed at me, squeezing my shoulder in approval. I held the paper in my palm, looking to him for direction.

“Underneath the tongue or between your lip and teeth. They take a while to kick in. Take three, they ain’t as potent as they used to be,” he explained. I put the one I was already holding behind my lip, and Hancock reached into the bottle to retrieve two more. He looked to me for permission, and I nodded, my heart racing. Must be the chem.

He took hold of my lip, his fingers coarse against my skin. I stared into his eyes, and he smiled softly at me, pulling the skin out gently and depositing two more squares next to the first one. He released the pressure on my lip, but his fingers lingered atop it for a moment, brushing softly against the surface. We stared at each other, and something seemed to be building up behind his eyes, something that I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, place. He finally dropped his hand, dipping it into the bottle to get himself a couple hits of his own. I blinked a few times, breaking out of the haze I’d fallen into. 

“Lay back and enjoy, sister,” Hancock instructed, and I did just that, nervously anticipating the beginning of my newfound high.


End file.
